Chapter 19: Chapter 19



Charles POV

The drive from Abuja to Lagos was a fucking chore. The damn trip takes exactly eleven to twelve hours to travel. And to make matters worse, I was the one on the steering wheel.

On the upside, the trip had felt airy. My mind had been occupied with events of the past and it completely distracted me. I couldn't stop thinking about Annabelle, the contract, my mother.......

The thought of my mother made my heart clench painfully.

If I had called home to announce my arrival, the woman would have forced me to take a flight. In a way, I knew she was doing that to try and make up for the fact that she wasn't there for me when I needed her.

Except for the fact that she birthed me, we had nothing in common. No relationship whatsoever. There was a time I actually doubted she was my mother. It wasn't until I stole a lock of her hair and got it tested with my blood to confirm generics, did I believe she birthed me.

Crazy right?

Well, at the time this happened, I wasn't really in my right mind. I was a lonely twenty-four-year-old young adult who was going through some emotional crisis. If I am to be truthful, I never really got over it.

Going back to my family's house always brought back memories. Memories I had tried so hard to bury over the years. Sometimes I got to forget about my horrid past. But other times it almost seemed impossible. It was pure torture knowing that your parents were a huge part of why you are damaged. Parents are supposed to protect you, care for you, love you even. But I guess I was just an unfortunate son of a gun.

During those times I was going through emotional torture, shame, the self-loathing, I had begged my mother to help convince my dad to get us out of that neighbourhood. According to her, my dad didn't bulge. She said something about him expanding the land and building a Mansion. Telling me stories of how it would be grander for us to live in a mansion I didn't die a fuck about, in a sorry attempt to dissuade me. When in truth, it would be grander for her and not me.

I couldn't fathom why they were talking about a mansion when I was dying slowly. They knew the shit I had been through. They knew exactly the kind of demons I was battling. I didn't believe the reason they didn't want to move was because of some stupid mansion. I didn't want to believe it. And so to confirm for me, I grew some balls and went to ask my father.

On that faithful day, he was sitting on his special study couch, reading a newspaper when I walked into his study room.

"Dad," I had called softly, moving towards him steadily. He didn't bulge or acknowledge me. He just completely ignored my presence. But I didn't give up, I continued, "Dad, can I ask you a question?" That caught his attention. Probably because I had never asked him a question before. He lifted his head from the newspaper he was reading and answered, "Go on."

Gathering courage I asked, "Why have you refused to leave? Staying here torments me. It brings memories I am trying to kill. Please, I'm begging you, let's move out of this neighbourhood." As I spoke, I could feel my voice shaking with suppressed emotions.

"Look, son. The situation that happened to you was meant to make you a man. Now that you are a man you must understand that you can't be selfish with your own needs. The family name comes first."

He took a pause, then continued, "We don't want this getting out to the press. it would ruin our reputation. Moving out will also raise suspicion. Just chuck it up and move on. I'm sure you'll be fine."

My heart stopped for a complete five seconds. I couldn't breathe or think. I couldn't even begin to believe, oh no, fathom the madness I was born into. How could my father choose the family name over his actual family?

I could faintly hear him calling out to me, but I was already too far gone to care. As if I was being controlled, I slowly turned around and walked out of the study.

Right until this very moment, I couldn't get over the shock of what I realised that day. I didn't have a father, I never had. I began to understand why my complaints were never taken to the press or why Ms Hannah was never arrested. It was all because my parents didn't want to tarnish their precious family image. After that episode, I swore never to have anything to do with all that concerned the Harrells.

Which in turn drove my father mad. He actually almost disowned me. If not for the fact that I was his sole heir. Selfish bastard.

I chuckled at that thought as I finally drove past the welcome to Lagos sign. It felt unfair to me that I always had to relieve those hunting memories whenever I made a trip home.

It was yet another reason I hated coming home. The funny thing was that the memories I was running from were the nightmares I usually daydream about. If my life wasn't screwed up, then I didn't know what was.

As I approached the house, all I could think of was how I was going to evade my mother. I drove towards the huge mansion and my eyes drifted over the familiar structure of the building. Everything was over the top. From the long driveway to the iron-clad gates. Ironically it was the perfect depiction of how extravagant my family was.

As I approached the gates, large security lights and cameras suddenly flashed on me. It was one of the over the top security procedures one had to go through to get into our mini-estate. The cameras would check whoever was approaching the vicinity and validate their purpose and importance.

I smiled knowingly.

My parents were very paranoid people. They had security cameras at every nook and cranny of the mansion. A state of the art security room and tons of bodyguards. If I didn't know better I'd say they were either with the CIA or they were drug lords.

Thank God I knew better!

I drove my car to the parking lot and stepped out of my car. I was sure my mother was already aware of my unannounced arrival the moment I passed through the gate. Locking the door of the car. I signalled to one of the bodyguards to pick up my things and gave him the keys.

The sky had darkened and the time was probably late evening. As I stepped into the foyer of the mansion, I was greeted with silence. My heart surged with a flicker of hope. Maybe my mum was asleep. Or maybe at a convention or a charity ball. I didn't care where she was if it meant being spared from her horrid presence.

I began to move towards the kitchen area when I heard a high pitched voice exclaim.

"Charles....! My baby! What a surprise! (O mo mi, wa bi bia) Come here and give your mother a proper greeting." She said in Yoruba as she approached me with her arms wide open, expecting a hug from me.

"E ku ro le." I greeted her in Yoruba which simply meant, good evening. I purposely avoided her arms, swiftly stepping aside as she tried to hug me.

"Charles, don't be like this. You haven't been home for days. The least you can do is greet me like a son would his mother." She mused, trying to emotionally blackmail me as usual. I thought by now she would have learnt that emotions weren't the smartest tool to use when trying to manipulate me.

"Well, I have never been a son to you, remember? I'm just the unfortunate seed you carried in your womb for a while and brought into the world to survive. You have never deserved the title called motherhood because you are not one." By the time I was done talking her eyes were dripping with tears.

Whether her tears were real or a ploy to get me remorseful, I didn't care. Her guilt was the only weapon I had on her, and I used it judiciously to hurt her as often as possible. She and my father did so much damage to me. I couldn't return the favour even if I used the rest of my life to cause them pain. It wouldn't be enough. They deserved to suffer a fate worse than death. They needed to be alive to suffer, in their old age, the negligence they forced me to endure as a young child.

My mum finally spoke through her snobs, making sure to ignore the fact that I just insulted her. "I know you might be hungry and dinner was just served. You came right on time. Let's go have dinner together."

"No. I am not hungry." I replied coldly. Dinner with my mother was always a disaster.

"You are never hungry when in this house or when it comes to the food I cook." She said, matter-of-factly.

"Maybe that's because you are an amazingly bad cook mother." That hit her, but she covered it with a smile. My mother was the greatest actress the world would ever see.

"Look, I don't care if you are angry with me or not because you are always angry with me. So you better move to the dining hall now or get moved by my boys." I looked at her with something akin to amusement. "It's your choice." She concluded.

I knew my mother could do some irrational things when she becomes desperate or couldn't get her way. I was tired from the drive so I knew I couldn't stand a fight with one of her boys at the moment. Any other time I would have loved the exercise but not right now. So, I decided to endure her company for a little while longer and attain peace. It was just dinner by the way. Not the end of the world.

With a sigh of resignation, I followed her to the dinner table and sat on the chair drawn out for me by one of her hoodlums. The meal was served and my mother started eating like she didn't just put up a show of being a weeping damsel. All I could do was sit there, and watch her with my appetite nowhere in sight.

"So Charles darling, have you found a woman yet? You know, to introduce to us?" My mum asked suddenly, dabbing the side of her chin with a napkin.

"It's none of your business if I have a woman in my life or not," I replied calmly, determined to avoid her silly games.

"Why not! I am your mother!" She said. Sending me a defiant look, then finishing it off with an expression that read: "Motherhood is my inheritance!"

I clenched my jaw. "As I said before, you are not a mother---"

"Are you gay?" She asked softly, cutting my words mid-sentence.

"What?" I muttered in shock.

"Yeah! You know, you never wanna talk about your sex life, you are always so secretive about everything and--"

"Yes!" I replied as I banged my hands on the table, effectively cutting her short.

"Why would I want to talk about my sex life with you huh? Why?" I yelled. I subconsciously knew I was raising my voice but I couldn't stop myself. I was all emotion now and she caused it. At least now she was getting what she really wanted from me. Emotions!

"When I told you about my sex life with Hannah, what she was doing to me, to your little boy, what did you do?" I asked shakily, my whole body vibrating with suppressed anger.

"Did you listen? Did you care? Now, all of a sudden, you are interested in knowing about my so-called sex life? You are nothing but a hypocrite!" I stood up then, pushing my chair back in the process.

My mother was still, so still, you'd think she was a sculptured artefact.

"You had your chance mother," I sneered, my voice laced with venom. "You had your chance but you fucked it up. Royally! What a concerned mother you are." I mocked, then walked out of the dining hall and headed for my room. The whole dining area was dead silent as I ran up the stairs. I faintly heard my mother's snobs behind me like a ghost, but I shut it out immediately. I felt nothing for that woman and if I had my way, I would keep dishing out as much emotional pain as I could on her and my father.

My father.

I wasn't ready to face him right now. And I hoped for his own sake that I didn't.