Beautiful Mess by Mukami Ngari

Author:Mukami Ngari
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: kenya, sports romance, african author, college romance, new adult romance, african romance, rich boy poor girl
Publisher: Love Africa Press

CHAPTER TEN

~~Makena~~

It has been five and a half days since Daniel and I spent the weekend together, and since then he has not called or texted me back.

On the first day, I thought maybe he was busy or at the doctor’s appointment or sleeping because some of the medication made him drowsy.

I made many excuses for him, but he still does not pick my calls on the second day. The blue ticks on my WhatsApp let me know that he’s seen my texts but chooses not to reply.

I don’t tell anyone about it. Not even Wanja or Ayara.

This is too embarrassing and predictable. I hear about it many times and read about it. Mother’s favourite Philippine soap operas are centred around it also.

A naïve girl falls for the charming bad boy, he does everything to win her heart and trust and then after they sleep together, the boy disappears into thin air.

I am the naïve girl, and Daniel already got what he wants from me.

By Friday, my mind is in such turmoil I barely hear anything the lecturers say.

I still see Daniel’s Cayenne in the parking lot, but we never run into each other while at school.

The worst part is everything reminds me of him. I am in this same school because of him, the apartment, the city, the air itself. I am going crazy. I am losing it.

When Ayara suggests that we go out for drinks at a club, Risqué owned by Fay and her brother, I want to say no, I want to stay in and hide and die of embarrassment. But she shows up at my house to pick me up.

She helps me pick my outfit, a bright orange skater dress, and nude wedges. I bought them at a roadside market a week ago.

The shoes felt foreign on my feet, I wear rubber shoes most of the time.

Ayara ignores my protests and helps me with my hair and makeup. When I look in the mirror, I barely recognize myself.

My hair is down, and I am wearing pink lipstick. My eyes are lined with eye pencil making them pop. I like it. Maybe I should try it more often. The most I did on regular days was lip-gloss.

“You look like a superstar,” Ayara says, admiring her handiwork.

“Thanks.”

I don’t speak much once we leave my house.

“Are you okay?” She asks as we drive through traffic.

“I’m fine. I miss home a little.”

I did miss home, and I wish I was still living in Iregi as a Kindergarten teacher. That I never went to Mombasa and never met Daniel, then none of this would have happened.

Maybe I am too naïve in this big city.

“Oh, I’m sorry, hun,” Ayara said. “A night out with your girls will help.”

We arrived at Club Risqué at around nine.

The ambience is lust and recklessness. People cuddled into groups all around the red couches—sharing beers and flirting, delicate dances, putting out cigars in ashtrays, biting red lips—exchanging sultry gazes over whiskey glasses.

Some people are on the dance floor.

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