I threw myself carelessly into the pool and I was drowning. It looked shallow from where I was standing. Unbeknownst to me, that was the deepest end of the pool. I started fighting for my life though I didn’t know how I was going to win over something that deep. I would sink low and throw myself up all the while screaming for help.

I remember when I was throwing myself in, my boyfriend was standing next to me, watching. While drowning, I hoped he was out there looking for help because he too didn’t know how to swim. When I came up, I heard indistinct screams. Soon I would go down and the screams would drown with me. Loud voices became muffled while I was down there.

I was slowly losing my breath and losing hope of ever being rescued. I went down one more time and everything went quiet. My eyes were shut. The noise had calmed. The pool had won. All of a sudden, I felt a hand around my chest. It was trying to locate me. I didn’t even have the strength to reach out and hold the hand. There was an embrace that slowly pulled me out of the water. I heard voices again. It was so loud.

“Is she alive?” A voice asked.

“Press her chest,” one said.

“Where’s the guy she came with, blow air into her mouth,” another said.

I coughed. I coughed again and water started coming from my nose and mouth. I didn’t see clearly. I felt like Lazarus when Jesus called him out of death. I saw faces. I was alive.

The guy who saved me was standing next to my boyfriend. He asked if I was alright. He gave me a towel and I asked his name. I thanked him and left the place with my boyfriend.

While in the Uber going home, my boyfriend asked, “Did you feel a finger down there while the guy was rescuing you?” I looked at him, shocked. “How would I know? I was drowning.”

“I didn’t like how the guy handled you. His hand was in between your thighs while pulling you up. Couldn’t he have held anywhere else?”

I put my head backwards, still hearing voices in my ears. He said, “Your mellons came out of your blouse, didn’t he see it? That guy is of no good.”

I could have been dead but all my boyfriend cared about was how the guy handled me while rescuing me. Days later, he was still talking about it. Weeks later, he was still grieving the way the guy handled me. I told him, “It looks like you’d rather bury me than bury your jealousy. What’s all this noise about?”

He answered, “I won’t be surprised if you enjoyed it, the reason you go mad anytime I talk about it.”

This guy stopped me from attending a lecture by a particular lecturer because he thought the lecturer loved me. He fought a guy on my phone because the guy called me at night. He later blocked the guy. He pushed my girlfriends away because according to him, they were bad influence and were going to push me to a sugar daddy. I needed his permission to attend group studies because he thought the guys in the group would snatch me from him.

There were many signs of deep-rooted jealousy but I didn’t leave him until he became obsessed with the hands that rescued me.

“You see, if I don’t take care, one day I’ll die and you won’t allow the mortician to work on me. What’s that? Was I born for you?” I told him.

This led to our final argument, I mean the argument that brought the relationship to an end. I was happy. I was relieved. I even wanted to start dating as soon as possible to feel how it was like to date a guy who wasn’t jealous. And then he came back with his brother and later his mom. He’s apologizing. He wants another run because according to him, he’s no longer the same person.

I’ve blocked him. I’ve warned him to stay far away from me before I report him to the police. Currently, he doesn’t come around. He sends emissaries. He won’t have me again. I want to die someday and have a great mortician work on my body because I deserve to look good for the final mile to eternity.

— Vero

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