Him | Charles Kadib

The first thing you saw that day was a text from him.

“I can’t wait to see you…” it had read, followed by the love and kisses emoji which made you want to dance and squeal with delight.

You could not believe that finally, after four months of chats and video calls, after all the phone sex and flirting, you would finally be meeting each other in the flesh.

“Just be careful…” your roommate had told you, “There are too many rumours of monsters out there.”

But Chris is not a monster, you insisted. You knew him like you had known no other. He had not come to your inbox the way the others usually came; all sneaky and sly and reeking of lust from a mile away. He had asked you about the products on your social media stories.

“Your bracelets and necklaces and statement pieces are so nice. How much do they cost?”

And he had made the first purchase of nearly twenty grand. He said he had a big family and wanted to get them something for Valentine’s.

“Everyone deserves a valentine, you know,” he typed.

“I bet your girlfriend must be lucky to have a man like you,” you had replied.

“Why would you ask that?”

“Because you seem like a family man. A man who can get his sisters and mother Valentine presents must be a keeper. How sensitive…”

“Thank you. Incidentally, I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Liar!”

“I wouldn’t lie about a thing like this,” he had typed, followed by an angry emoji.

You had apologized then, and he had shrugged it off, but you realized that you were beginning to like him. He had touched a soft spot for you. Your last boyfriend had not been as romantic and sensitive. He had only viewed you as a piece of meat that should only be tenderized before it was plundered, and that had affected your self-esteem and how you viewed your body. He had not wanted kids and a big family; the two things you really yearned for ever since your father died, and your brother relocated to another city with his wife and two kids. You didn’t want to feel so alone.

So, to make sure, you had stalked him on his wall. Unlike fraudsters, it was an old account with lots of information about him. You could see him at his place of work. He seemed to work at a prestigious company and looked financially well off. He drove a Toyota Venza, and his dress sense was admirable. In one picture, he was shirtless, and his abs were to die for. You had saved that particular picture to your phone without understanding why. But what attracted you the most were the posts about his family; nieces, nephews, siblings, and parents. Even his cousins. Everyone had his love. And you started to imagine joining such a large and loving family, even before you realized it.

Four days after your slight altercation, you decided to inbox him. You wanted to know how his family enjoyed his Valentine’s presents.

“They loved it. We really should do more business,” he had responded.

You wanted more than business but didn’t want to shoot your shot so early, so you played it cool. You told him you had been enjoying his wall over the past few days.

“Really?” he had typed, “I have enjoyed yours too.”

And he had added a wink emoji, and for some reason, it had made you feel elated. Both of you started talking after that time. You knew Chris, and he was sweet. Was it not Chris who had called you before anyone on your birthday last month? When the supplier disappointed you after making you pay for the goods, was it not Chris who gave you the money to refund your clients to avoid public humiliation? Was it not Chris that had called and encouraged you for over an hour when you were feeling so down? How could that guy be a monster? Your roommate didn’t know what she was talking about.

You were travelling all the way to his city to see him. He had booked a nice hotel for you, somewhere on the outskirts, so you didn’t have to deal with the mad city traffic. He had wanted to send you some money for your transportation fare, but you had refused. You were not one of those cheap girls who always took from their man. And you had not given Chris anything, so why shouldn’t you pay for your transportation? So, you declined and booked the flight with your money.

Chris would pick you up at the hotel, and you would both go for a meal and some drinks and then to your hotel room for some proper lovemaking. You couldn’t wait to know what his body would feel like.

******

As the night wore on, your heart kept beating harder. Dinner had been perfect. He had told you that he would like to take you to see his house, and you had agreed. You had been worried that maybe he had been one of these married men who went online to deceive women.

He had built his house on one of those new developing areas on the city’s outskirts that still had pockets of forests between the houses. At some point during dinner, you had started feeling dizzy, but he told you it was because of the wine you had taken.

“You shouldn’t have had that many bottles, love,” he told you soothingly.

You hadn’t even realized that you had drunk so much. It must have been the excitement of finally meeting him and having the chance to touch and feel him inside of you. You put your hand on his thigh and moan seductively.

“I want you inside of me, baby,” you say in a seductive voice that surprises even you.

“We’re almost there, love. Very soon, I will be inside of you.”

And he drove faster as his face got more intense. He was as turned on as you. Tonight, would be an epic night. Then somewhere during the journey, you slowly drifted off to sleep. The last thing you remembered was him caressing your hair with his free hand while his eyes never left the road.

******

When you wake up, you are in a dimly lit room. You are not on a bed but a roughly cemented floor. You are not alone, but you aren’t with him either. There are three other women seated on the floor with you. You notice there is a slight cut on one of your arms, and it hurts. But you cannot think straight about it because you are still a bit woozy from too much drinking.

And yet, the looks on the faces of the women around you send a chill down your spine. These are not the faces of happy women. You can see the fear and desperation stamped clearly on their faces. And they are all tied up hand and foot, stripped to their underwear, just like you. And they are all gagged, so they can’t scream, just like you. You cannot understand this because you are not that rich, and neither are your parents. So perhaps, you are about to be trafficked abroad as a sex slave. But you would rather die first than let that happen.

The only difference between you and them is that they are not struggling; they seem to have accepted their fate. But you haven’t, and you would rather die struggling than submit to any terrible fate like a meek lamb.

Then the door opens, and two men burst into the room. They are dressed like surgeons, with scrubs, scrub caps, and surgical gloves. They are stained from head to toe with blood, and their muscles bulge from underneath the scrubs. They look about the room and then come to where you are lying.

“This is her,” one of them says, “She is the one that matched with the client abroad.”

The other man lifts you off the cold tile and places you on his broad shoulder in one deft movement. They take you out of the room through a passage that has two doors on each side of you. The air reeks of human flesh, and blood seeps out from underneath the door of one of the rooms. The men are quiet as they march down the hall, carrying you along like a sack of beans. They take you into a large room with a large table in the middle, where two men in scrubs and surgical masks are bent over a body. Everything is covered in a transparent polyethylene sheet and wholly stained with blood. The smell of hospital equipment fuses with the increased smell of decaying flesh. And all of a sudden, you see it. Two bodies have been dumped at a side of the room. Their bodies are like hollow shells, empty and devoid of the usual vestigial organs that should be found there. You can no longer bear this, so you throw up all over the scrubs of the cold giant who becomes angry.

“Fool!” he screams as he dumps you to the floor and kicks you.

From the table, the two men operating on the body react with anger at this action.

“Don’t you damage anything inside of her!” The one at the left roars.

That is when you see him. He is also dressed in scrubs, with a scrub cap and surgical gloves, just like the rest. He raises his hand with the surgical equipment which he uses to slice open the victims and gives you a cynical wave. You feel your heart cracking slowly from the betrayal and hurt. You remember all the times you had enjoyed with him and all the love you gave. You remember your roommate’s warnings, which you angrily shoved aside because you felt they were borne out of jealousy.

And now the love of your life comes over and feels your body, but not the way you would have loved him. There is no affection or care in his touch. It is not sexual in the least. It is a cold accessing touch to see if everything about you is still intact.

“We would get her heart out first,” the other doctor says, “The client abroad has paid large sums for it.”

“Yes. Let’s sedate her,” he says, “I don’t want her awake when I go inside of her.”

“You must have liked this one.”

“Yes, she has a heart of gold.”

They all laugh at the pun and set about their business. But tears are rolling down your cheeks, and you see your life ending. But even now, all you can think of are the fun times you had with him. You are thinking of the long chats and the first phone sex. You are wondering why you sent that damn message to his DM. Oh, how you regret it! You are thinking of dinner earlier when he had lovingly touched you, that felt so amazing that you had felt like you would burst. You are thinking of the first time you saw him…

END

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About the Author: Charles Kadib is a writer residing in Port Harcourt. His short stories and reviews have appeared in Brittle Paper and Naija Book Club.
When he is not writing or reading, he is playing video games. He has a love for Crime fiction that bothers his father.

Photo by Pavel Pjatakov on Unsplash