ONCE LOVED A WOMAN OF ANGER- BY YUSHAB ABOLORE

I once loved a girl whose anger had no brakes.

A girl so beautiful that even her storms looked like my poems from a distance until you stood inside the rain.

She could explode over the smallest things.

Words became weapons.

Silence became impossible.

And destruction was never too far from her hands.

Yet I stayed.

Because beauty can be a prison.

And love, when mixed with pity, becomes a chain.

The first day I met her, she was already fighting and arguing with a bike man who dropped her at the junction instead of her destination. Her voice was sharp, her eyes blazing. I stepped in, calmed things down, and walked her to her friend’s house on my street. Numbers were exchanged. Fate smiled gently that day… or so I thought.

Before we dated, she warned me.

“I have anger issues,” she said plainly, like someone confessing a crime they hoped love would pardon.

I told her who I was. I'm a quiet man when angry, a gentleman who prefers peace over noise. I asked her if she could change.

She said she would.

Because she loved me.

I believed her.

Love often makes liars of us all.

Back then, I won’t pretend, I was popular with girls. As in, "Baba for them girls". She knew. Sometimes she worried, sometimes she accused, but whenever she found no evidence of me having a secret affair with them, she would retreat into silence. I thought we understood each other.

Then I met Mide.

She met me first with a soft smile and a brave voice. She complimented my dressing and confessed she had been watching me for a while, gathering courage. She said that even if I rejected her, she’d walk away as if nothing had happened.

That kind of vulnerability stays with you.

I gave her space in my circle. Nothing more, so I believed.

That same day, I told my girlfriend about Mide. She shrugged, uninterested, unmoved. I thought the matter ended there.

But something changed.

She became busy.

Always busy.

Too busy to see me.

Too busy to talk to me.

Too busy to explain.

Too busy to communicate. 

And in those empty spaces, Mide appeared taking her space by calling, waiting, laughing and even gifting. We saw each other almost every day. She was warm without chaos. Peace without fear. And I hated myself for thinking that I should have met her first.

Still, my heart stayed loyal to my girlfriend. At least, that’s what I told myself.

Then one evening, Mide came to me and broke down.

She cried like someone whose home had collapsed silently. She told me her mother had just discovered her father had another wife and children in Ibadan. All his business trip to Ibadan was a lie. All his absence is a betrayal. Whenever he leaves home, he goes to see his family in Ibadan. She cried until words failed her.

I stayed.

I listened.

I held her pain with both hands.

It was late when she finally calmed down. The sky had darkened. She thanked me… and hugged me.

That hug…

Her body leaned into mine, soft, trembling. My heart betrayed me immediately by racing, skipping, and dreaming of her. For a brief second, the world disappeared and I had to shut my eyes.

Then reality shattered.

My eyes flew open in horror.

My girlfriend stood before me, rage incarnate while swinging a broken plank. The sound of wood meeting skull still lives in my ears. Mide collapsed instantly. Blood pooled beneath her head like a cruel signature.

I screamed.

My girlfriend ran away but fate caught her. A school marshal had seen everything. He arrested her and didn't let go of her.

The school ambulance arrived and departed with me and Mide’s body. The Hospital lights and settings affected my thoughts as soon as we got there. The shock froze my tongue.

Mide lay unconscious for over an hour. Her parents arrived furiously, demanding answers I couldn’t give. I was torn between truth and fear, between love and guilt. I wanted Mide to wake up. I wanted my girlfriend to be free. I wanted the world to rewind.

But life doesn’t rewind.

Mide’s parent approached the Marshal on sight, the same man who was present at the incident scene.

When the marshal spoke, everything got worse. He said it looked like I was Mide’s boyfriend because he saw us hugging each other before a lady hit their daughter with a plank on her head. Mide's parents scream pierced the walls. Jail threats were flying in the air. I'm definitely catching one if Mide fails to wake up again. Accusations, that my tongue can deny. Hatred that my innocence can withstand. I can only pray to God for help. 

An hour later, the doctor said Mide had regained consciousness.

I breathed again.

But the chaos was not done.

When Mide saw me, she asked if I was okay. She asked what happened. I couldn’t speak. Fear had sewn my lips shut. Her parents demanded answers. I said nothing.

Then the siren came again.

My girlfriend was brought in.

She saw Mide’s father… and screamed:

“Daddy!”

The room collapsed into silence.

In that moment, everything made sense.

The story Mide told me about her father,

the hidden family,

the pain,

the betrayal,

It was my girlfriend’s story too.

She didn’t know.

She never knew.

She had just tried to kill her own step-sister… out of inherited rage, out of wounds passed down by a man who broke two homes and raised anger where love should have lived.

No one needed to explain where her anger issues came from.

I already knew.

That day taught me something I will never forget;

Some people don’t inherit money.

They inherit pain.

And they bleed it on anyone close enough.

I also learned something painful and true;

Love does not always heal.

Sometimes, love only reveals how broken we already are.

What happened at the hospital and after that day is another story.

But the scars?

They stayed with all of us.

© YUSHAB ABOLORE AYOMIDE 

- Nigeria