MY ILLUSION
CHAPTER ONE:
STARTING ANEW
Heartbreak. A word so
small yet powerful enough to break a person into unrecognizable pieces. It was
what I had barely survived, what had left me curled up in bed for weeks,
staring at the ceiling, questioning everything. I wasn't ready to talk about
it—not now, maybe not ever. But one thing was certain: I needed a fresh start.
A distraction.
Then, I met him. Jayson
Anderson.
A man who
embodied every fantasy I had ever dared to dream. He was tall, dark-skinned,
and exuded a raw, dominant energy that sent shivers down my spine. His voice,
deep and velvety, was the kind that lingered in your mind long after the
conversation had ended. He wasn't just handsome; he was dangerously alluring,
like a magnet pulling me into an abyss I should have resisted.
But I didn't.
He was everything I thought I wanted—or
maybe, I was just desperate to move on from my ex. Either way, when we started
chatting on WhatsApp, it felt like a dream. Lovey-dovey messages filled my
screen, making me smile like a fool as I let myself get swept away.
I had no idea what I was walking into.
Soon, our chats stretched late into the night, his
words weaving into my dreams. I found myself checking my phone first thing in
the morning, eager to see if he had messaged. It felt exciting, refreshing,
like stepping into a new chapter of my life.
But as weeks passed, our conversations turned more
intimate. The "no love lost" façade I tried to maintain blurred, and before I
knew it, I was falling for him.
Two months passed, and I was already
falling—falling too fast, too deep. I should have known better. I should have
guarded my heart. But the thrill of it all made me reckless. I let myself get
blinded by the Illusion of him.
Then, the conversations took a turn.
"You know, you have a really sexy
voice," Jayson had
once texted late at night.
I had blushed, hesitant at first. "Oh? And how does one's
voice sound sexy?"
His response had been swift. "It just does. I can
already imagine how you'd sound whispering my name in the dark."
I froze, staring at the words on my screen. This
was new territory—uncharted, dangerous, and exhilarating.
I hesitated, my fingers
hovering over my phone's keyboard. I wasn't sure if I was ready for this, but
then, wasn't this what I wanted? Something new? Something different? My ex had
made me feel like I wasn't enough, like I wasn't desirable. But here was Jayson,
painting vivid images in my mind with nothing but words.
I found myself lost in unhealthy
fantasies—imagining the feel of his arms, the taste of his lips. My instincts
warned me, Mandy, do you know what you're doing? But I ignored
them.
I wanted more. More of his attention.
More of him.
So one night, I mustered the courage to
ask:
"Are we dating?"
His response came sharp and cold.
"I don't understand why you'd ask
me that. What if I said no? What if I said yes? Would it change anything?"
I stared at my screen, stunned.
"I don't date," he continued. "My past
relationships were a mess. If you're not comfortable with that, you can block
me."
His words hit me like a slap, yet I
refused to let them sink in. Instead of walking away, I did the unthinkable—I
apologized.
"I'm so sorry. I know you've been
hurt before, and I totally understand."
The moment I hit send, regret pooled in
my stomach. But it was too late. I had already given him the power.
That night, I lay in bed, staring at my
phone, hoping—praying—for him to text back.
The Next Morning
I woke up feeling unusually energetic,
determined not to check my phone every five seconds. Instead, I focused on
making breakfast—toast, eggs, and a concentrated cup of hot tea.
By noon, I was curled up on the sofa,
scrolling through movie channels when my phone beeped.
I glanced at the screen.
Jayson.
"It's fine," his message read. "I'm not in
the right space to date anyone right now."
I swallowed the lump in my throat and
forced a smile.
"No problem. I understand."
And just like that, our conversations
continued—as if nothing had happened. We slipped back into flirtation, back
into lust-filled texts that sent my mind spinning. I loved how he made me feel,
even if deep down, I knew it wasn't real.
A Weekend Routine
By 4 p.m., I was in the kitchen
preparing Afang soup. I chopped the okazi leaves, mixed in the waterleaf, and
added the well-seasoned beef and cow skin. The aroma filled my apartment,
making my stomach growl impatiently.
I told myself I'd wait until 8 p.m. to
eat. That didn't happen.
Moments later, I was stuffing spoonfuls
into my mouth, savoring every bite. When I finally finished, I grabbed my phone
again—no new messages from Jayson. Disappointed, I tossed it aside and tried to
focus on the movie playing in front of me.
But no matter how hard I tried, I kept
checking the time, waiting.
At some point, exhaustion took over,
and I dozed off on the sofa.
Sunday Morning
The sound of a rooster crowing rudely
pulled me from sleep.
I groaned, rubbing my eyes. This
rooster needs to be silenced.
Dragging myself out of bed, I showered
and slipped into my vintage gown before heading out to catch a tricycle to
church. The service was refreshing, but my mind kept drifting—back to him.
By 2 p.m., I was back home, too tired
to cook. I bought a plate of rice and chicken from a food vendor down the
street, paid ₦2,500, and returned to eat in silence.
Halfway through my meal, my phone
rang. Hazel Jones.
"Hello," I answered.
"Mandy Morgan, look at you! How's
my girl doing?" she teased. "Are you
home?"
"Yeah, I am. You want to come
over?"
"Of course! Be there in 10
minutes."
As soon as I ended the call, another
message popped up on WhatsApp.
Jayson.
"Hey, Angel. How are you
doing?"
My stomach flipped. Angel?
I had barely recovered from my
excitement when Hazel's loud knock snapped me back to reality.
"Mandy baby!" she squealed as I opened the door. "Look
at you! You're glowing!"
I laughed, shaking my head. Hazel was
always extra.
"So tell me, who's responsible for
this glow?" she pressed.
I hesitated. Do I tell her?
"Well…," I started shyly. "No one in
particular. Just me, moving on from my ex and starting fresh."
Hazel narrowed her eyes. She
didn't believe me.
"Actually," I admitted, "there is someone. I
met him online. We've been talking for two months, even before I broke up with
my ex. But… he says he's not into dating because of his past
relationships."
Hazel's face turned serious.
"Mandy," she said firmly, "this guy isn't
ready for anything serious. If you keep this up, you're going to get your heart
broken again."
Her words echoed in my head, but I
brushed them aside. You can't advise a woman in love.
Instead, I changed the subject,
offering her a drink and some snacks. We talked for hours, until sleep took us
both.
Later That Night
By 5:30 p.m., Hazel left, inviting me
to a party. I declined—I wasn't much of a partygoer. Instead, I made spaghetti,
ate quietly, and scrolled through WhatsApp.
Still no message from Jayson.
Just as I was about to give up, my
phone beeped.
"Hey, Mami. Sorry, work has been
crazy. I barely have time to text."
A mixture of relief and annoyance
filled me. Still, I replied, "It's fine. I know you're busy, so I
didn't want to bother you."
Before I could type another message, my
phone started ringing. WhatsApp Video Call.
My heart raced.
I answered.
And there he was. Dark, radiant skin. A
well-defined nose. Golden-brown eyes that burned with desire. He looked like a
god.
"Stand up," he said. "Let me see you."
I did.
I twirled slowly as he watched me with
a look I couldn't quite place—lust, curiosity, something deeper.
I liked it.
We talked for a while before he said he
was exhausted and needed sleep. After we hung up, I checked the time—7:00
p.m.
"What a day," I muttered, stretching before heading to the shower.
That night, I fell asleep dreaming of
my mystery man.
Of Jayson Anderson.
Of the illusion I refused to wake up
from.