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Mr. Chukwu sat down while Kike and I paced up and down the waiting hall at intervals. I had thought of calming her down then I remembered how an innocent cuddle got us into this trouble, so I let her be. After 2 hours, Dr. Bright came out of the surgery room and we all rushed to enquire how it went.
“In my office” he addressed us.
Kike and I were able to get the help of one of the neighbours. At first, I was numb and confused. I just watched him struggle for his life, but Kike’s aggressive plea to save his life brought me out of the trance. I experienced a flash forward where I previewed what my future would look like if he died, “which kind wahala be this? Mo gbe!” I screeched with my whole body vibrating. Spontaneously, I ran outside the house and screamed “Help. Help! Help us!” until one of the neighbours answered my cry for help.
“What happened to him?” he asked Kike and I, “he slipped and hit his head” we chorused instinctively taking a quick gaze at each other. He ran back to his apartment to retrieve his car key while I carried Bade outside. We soon got him into the back seat with Kike; using three towels to subdue the bleeding as we placed his head on Kike’s laps. As we approached the junction I looked back to see how he was doing and I saw a man struggling to stay alive. The last time I saw such a picture was when Boko Haram had just bombed a plaza at Jos. I watched a man fight for his life in the pool of his own blood until he lost the battle. I can recall turning off the television and smashing its remote control on the floor. I blamed the victim’s misfortune on God, why won’t He just appear in the sky and declare which is the true religion instead of folding His arms and watching us massacre ourselves.
This time, Bade was soaked in his own blood but it was my doing, not God’s. Kike screamed, “Mr. Chukwu can you please drive faster!” In response to her request he stepped on the throttle and increased his speed. It was a regular evening on Ibadan road. People were returning from their respective workplaces so traffic was building, and in no time we found ourselves approaching traffic. Mr. Chukwu switched on his hazard light and faced the oncoming vehicles; I brought my head out through his open car roof and shouted “emergency” continually, signaling to them with my hand that they should get out of the way. Mr. Chukwu disregarded all road safety regulations as he drove furiously and at top speed, honking and maneuvering at intervals.
We finally escaped the traffic only to be stopped by policemen at a checkpoint. They had blocked off a part of the road with tyres and drums. Mr. Chukwu wasn’t going to slow down though, at least not until one of the policemen jumped in front of our speeding vehicle with his rifle aimed at us. Mr. Chukwu applied the brake quickly. I wondered how he managed not to clear the silly policeman.
“What nonsense? This one is a criminal. Park!” the officer in question ordered. Kike and Mr. Chukwu reacted angrily as I tried to explain to him the urgency of the moment. Mr. Chukwu jumped out of the car and thundered,
“Sergeant, what is the problem?”
“Oga, this men are carrying what I believe to be a dead body. This is the driver” he pointed at Mr. Chukwu, “he almost ran me over. And that one is the accomplice, his clothing is stained with blood” he concluded, pointing at me.
“Dead body?” the senior officer questioned, “Yes sir.”
“Let everybody come down. Madam, come out before I order them to remove you forcefully.” He then turned to the remaining officers and ordered, “Surround them, if they try to escape, aim for the leg.”
“Why not aim for the head?” Kike retorted bitterly and with heavy tears. She was now outside the vehicle,
“Inspector” she addressed him diplomatically, “I am Barrister KIkelomo Afe. The man in that vehicle is my fiancé and he is not dead. He suffered a home accident and we are trying to save his life by getting him to the hospital as soon as possible. I demand that you let us go. You can come with us to the hospital if you wish. But if he dies, I will not only sue you, I will sue the Oyo State Police Department and I think you know what that means.”
“Oh, so you think you can threaten us because you are related to Afe Babalola” the sergeant rebutted, “what exactly will you be suing us for?”
“Kabiru that’s enough” the inspector yelled at him “Are you saying you are willing to let him die?” Kike followed with that. Courageous girl!
“Barrister I will let you go, but we will be escorting you to the hospital for further investigation” the inspector compromised.
“Very well, lead the way” said Kike as she returned to the vehicle. The sergeant opened the back door in an attempt to enter Mr. Chukwu’s car, making him angrier,
“Don’t you have any sense? Do you want to sit on the head of a dying man?” Mr. Chukwu declared as he locked the car centrally before turning on the ignition and speeding away. All these and Bade had not given up the ghost. 3 minutes later we arrived at the gate of the University College Hospital Ibadan; Kike whispering “stay with me baby” to Bade. Then like in the movies Bade forced few out words that sounded like “I am sorry Kike” and a short silence ensued before Kike screamed,
“Bade! Bade! Please don’t die on me. Baby, I am so sorry too.” I looked back and realized he was not moving. By then we were already at the emergency department of the hospital, I ran inside and came out with two nurses and a stretcher. One of the nurses placed a stethoscope on his chest and held his wrist,
“I can feel his pulse.” The nurse ignited our hopes again, “Tell Dr. Bright we need him in surgery” She ordered another nurse who stood at the entrance. As they pushed in the stretcher, I looked back and realized our police escort had turned back; I saw them exiting the gate from a distance. A part of me was relieved for reasons I couldn’t even comprehend.
Dr. Bright apologized for keeping us waiting.
“He made it. He will be fine. We were able to control the bleeding in time. He suffered a cracked skull, but he will recover in no time. He is a very lucky man. From observation, he doesn’t seem to have medical complications that often accompany skull injuries. He is one of ours and we will take good care of him. There is also an NHIS policy in place to take care of a large chunk of the bills. However, you will be responsible for getting these prescriptions,” he handed Kike an expectedly illegible-handwritten note.
“You will not be able to see him until tomorrow morning in order to avoid any mental or emotional complications.”
“What if he needs to eat?” Mr. Chukwu asked.
“Right now chewing will stress his skull and we need to avoid that by all means necessary. So he will be placed on drip till tomorrow. You both need to change out of those blood-stained clothes,” he advised, referring to me and Kike.
We all echoed “thanks” in gratitude and exited the hospital.
After expressing my appreciation to Mr. Chukwu in his apartment, I decided to sit outside. I thought about how lucky I was to see Bade survive. I couldn’t help but ask myself the ‘what if’ questions. I felt sorry for myself; the boy in me soon began to weep. When it was around 11p.m, I went inside and met Kike in the living room. She was also crying.
“Kunle, I am so sorry I put you into this mess” she apologized in tears, “I shouldn’t have asked you to cuddle me. I just, I just…” she stammered on tearfully.
“It’s okay Kike” I walked up to her and patted her shoulder “thank God he made it.” She clinched to me and cried like an infant, I held her close and comforted her.
I woke up to find Kike staring at me in a manner I didn’t understand. It was around 5a.m and it was very cold, we had slept off on the couch and in each others arms.
“Good morning Kike” I greeted and in response she kissed me surprisingly. I pushed her away but she came at me again, this time passionately. I tried to stop, I wanted to, my spirit was willing but my flesh was weak. She unhooked my belt, dipped her hands into my pants and reached for my manhood. She paused with my penis in her hand, my right hand on her left breast, and with both of us breathing heavily she asked me, “Do you want us to stop?”
Written by Femi Fragile (Twitter – @fragiletimbzz)