Ruth
You know that fairy tale love? The kind you watch in movies and read about in books? The kind that gives you butterflies and makes you feel you can’t possibly feel happier than you do in that moment? That love that keeps you at the edge of your seat? That love that, no matter how much you get mistreated, you will always go back to? That’s what loving Ade felt like.
I learned a long time ago that that love was only exciting because it involved tremendous heartache. It was unrequited infatuation, constantly forcing the other person to pay attention to you, give you love and affection too. It was an uphill battle, constantly trying to prove yourself worthy of a person who probably wasn’t worthy of you. Still, I shouldered this love for years.
Ade had an addictive quality to him. There was something about him that just drew you in no matter what. He was an enigma, everyone around him could feel it. He was like an oddity, that one person that everybody paid attention to. It wasn’t because he was ridiculously wealthy, it wasn’t because he was handsome, it wasn’t even because of the scandal his mother had caused years ago when she’d ran away with some European model. I had always felt like stripped of all of those things, Ade would still be one of the most fascinating people ever.
He was attractive, not just in the physical sense, it was his aura. He held the aura of a powerful person. His aura made people want to listen to him. His aura drew people to him, like a moth to a flame. So even when it was known that Ade Orifa was a player of the worst kind, people were drawn to him.
People of all kinds had dated Ade, but it was never anything serious. It was always the non-committal “we’re not together but we are exclusive” . The only constant in his life was Lesedi, the gay best friend who was clearly in love with him. Everybody knew it, I’m sure Ade himself knew it. So as far as we were concerned, if there was anyone Ade would commit himself to, it would be Lesedi.
Imagine everyone’s shock and surprise when he chose Ayo Abiola. The girl who’d been nicknamed “too boring to do art”. She was a talent, and some would even say she was pretty. We all agreed that their relationship was too good to be true. After all our campus was huge, and they did two different majors. Even if by chance they were to meet, they wouldn’t be able to have a proper conversation. Still, we all watched in amazement, some in jealousy, as Ade “the King” Orifa fell head over heels for this girl who was completely ordinary. It was a slap in the face for those of us who had dated Ade before, those of us who had loved him.
For the women who were hotter, smarter, the women who were just more than Ayo, in every aspect, it was an insult. I mean getting your heart broken by Ade was tragic. It’s not easy being manipulated, made to look a fool and then being told “I never said we were together”. However, it was comforting to think that maybe the reason why Ade treated the women in his life so badly was because his soulmate was a man. Again, his commitment to Ayo shattered those sentiments.
I had met Ade in first year, back when it was too early for him to have the reputation he has now. I was one of the first girls in our year he ever approached, and when we started dating, I was one of 5. At the time I was well aware that there were other girls, there were rumours all over campus and even proof my friends had shown me.
At that age I was so convinced that I was the main chick. I would tell myself “he might mess around with all these other girls, but I’m the one he loves, the one he’d cross provinces for”. Which he did, he could afford to cross borders on a whim because ‘I miss you my only’. That was what he’d called me back then. His only, now those words left a bitter taste in my mouth.
Back then, Ade had been creative, he would come up with creative excuses for why there was a girl sitting on his lap in that picture, or why he’d been seen with Nqobile in the bathroom. When he got tired of explaining himself to me, he would throw the ever painful “we’re not together, I don’t have to do this” in my face. Those words always had the same effect, me apologising and him getting away with bare minimum behaviour.
I was young. I was stupid. I was in love. Or at least I thought I was. I would have done anything for Ade, for his approval, for his validation, for his coaxing. I knew he would never love me, he only loved Lesedi, so I settled for his affections and his occasional kindness. I would have done anything for Ade. So when he asked me to cut out a part of me, “I don’t want to have kids” he said, I did it. It hurt for months- inside and out- and yet I did it for him because I loved him.
At the time I’d thought that maybe if he saw how devoted I was with him, he would love me back. Or he would at least stay with me out of pity. That wasn’t the case with Ade. Eventually he got tired of me; he stopped replying to my messages, ignored my calls, and acted like he didn’t know me when he saw me at campus. On the days he acknowledged me, he would call me by a wrong name.
I couldn’t understand why he was like that. This wasn’t the Ade I knew, I would insist. So I would watch him, I would follow him, I wanted to understand or at least try to understand what he was. Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, and months to a year. At that point I couldn't leave him alone, Ade’s life became my version of Keeping up with the Kardashians.
I devoted myself to learning him, understanding him, no matter what he did, who he hurt, I would love him more for it. I eventually assumed thar Ade just didn’t know how to love. Until he met Ayo. The girl he was vunerable to, the girl who he didn’t hesitate to love.
My love turned to hatred.
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