“I don’t know, Obiora. It feels to me like you’re not over her,” she’d said, point blank. Obiora’s mouth had clicked shut. As the silence had stretched, she’d used the opportunity to continue, “I just feel that like Sophia, you’ve built barriers around your heart because of your ex-girlfriend’s death.”
His first instinct had been to placate, to deny, to change the subject. But for some reason, Ejiro’s face had flashed in his mind’s eye—the gentle, respectful way he always spoke about Ada, treating her death with the gravity Obiora had forgotten she’d deserved—and years of his grief being smothered and discarded and treated like trash built up in that microsecond until something within Obiora had snapped.
“She’s not my ex-girlfriend.” He’d sneered, startling both Sasha and Sophia with his venom. Everyone always used “ex-girlfriend” to diminish the impact Ada’s death had had on his life. And Obiora was fucking done. “She was my girlfriend, and then she died.”
Their matching looks of shock—though they’d instantly tried to mask it—had immediately made him panic. He’d taken a breath and apologised for his outburst, but it was too late. Sasha had taken his defensiveness as an admission of guilt, and had used it to put him on the spot.
“I don’t mean to be indelicate, Obiora, I really don’t—but please understand where I’m coming from. How can you expect to fully commit yourself to Sophia when, by all accounts, you’re literally in love with someone else?”
Obiora hadn’t known how to respond, because she was right, wasn’t she? And the fact that she was right had filled him with a weird mixture of rage and grief, because just a day ago, he’d thought he’d fallen in love with Ejiro. But could he truly love Ejiro while he still loved Ada?
After her question—which was obviously rhetorical—Obiora had gone quiet, letting Sophia do all the talking until their time with the therapist ended. Then he’d immediately walked away.
Sophia, bless her fucking heart, had rushed after him, both of them ignoring the cameras and crew that quickly trailed after them.
“Are you okay?” she’d asked, obviously genuinely worried. At the question, Obiora wished they could be friends when this all was over, though he knew that probably wouldn’t happen. “That was kind of intense, wasn’t it?” she added playfully, trying to lighten the mood.
Obiora didn’t even consider being vulnerable with her. All his walls had built themselves up instead, reinforcing themselves with steel.
He’d grinned, wide and forcefully carefree, opening his arms so she could give him a hug. “I’m good, don’t worry. Sasha means business, doesn’t she? Jeez.”
Sophia had laughed, none the wiser. “Right? Fucking hell, I thought I was being cross-examined for like—murder or something. Therapy is pretty invasive, isn’t it? But I guess that’s the point.”
“Mhm.”
“You know I don’t care, right?” she’d said suddenly, pulling out of his arms, looking him in the eye. “I don’t care if you’re still—I mean, if you—that is, what matters to me, is how you feel about me, if you get me?”
At first, he’d frowned with confusion. Then with a surprising amount of disappointment, Obiora understood.
He was allowed to be sad, or even love Ada a little, but Sophia had to always come first. Which was understandable. But her dancing around the subject—her hesitation to actually name what it was that Obiora was feeling—to not even mention Ada by name at all, had Obiora’s fury and irritation building once more.
“Yeah, I get you,” he’d said, forcing a smile.
Sophia had heaved a sigh of relief, oblivious. “Good. That’s good. I’ll see you later?”
After that, Obiora had walked off. He’d been too antsy to go back into the house, so he’d ended up in the garden.
And one look from Ejiro, one heart-shattering question from his lips—Obiora, what do you need?—and all of Obiora’s walls had simply crumbled to dust.
And God. Ejiro was right. The world did expect Obiora to move on just because his relationship with Ada had been romantic. They treated Ada’s death like—like it was some kind of breakup—and a pretty insignificant one at that—I mean, Sasha had called Ada his ex-girlfriend for fuck’s sake—instead of treating it like something monumental—something so devastating it had changed the shape of his heart irreparably.
“Still.” Ameri’s voice brought Obiora back to the present. “If Sasha brought up any bad memories, or made you feel some type of way, I apologise. I just thought—”
“Look, it’s fine,” Obiora interrupted. “I promise. I’m good. I’m okay.”
Ameri didn’t look convinced. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
Ameri sighed. “Then I won’t push. I’m sorry, either way. We’ll be reconvening in the big sitting room in a few minutes if you still need some time to collect yourself.”
“Got it.”
“See you in a bit, then.”
Ameri turned around and walked away.
Obiora waited a beat. Then a few more. It didn’t seem like Ejiro was going to return, which made Obiora feel equal parts relieved and disappointed.
