I was nothing less than seventeen years old the first time it happened. I was just a fresh high school graduate who had fallen in love with Tony, my first boyfriend.
Tony was that kind of guy whose smile could make you forget you're having a bad day. A sweet guy whose aura alone wraps around you like a warm blanket on a rainy day. His eyes held so many promises.
I can still remember how we had made plans to go celebrate our second anniversary at a beach in Calabar. Tony made sure to buy us matching outfits. He had wanted that day to be special. But, just one week before our anniversary, Tony slumped on a football field while playing football with his friends.
"One second, he was celebrating his goal with us. The next, he was still." His teammates had said.
"A silent heart defect" The doctor had said. I had wondered for months what the doctor meant by that..
But then, it happened again. And again. And again.
That was when I knew something was wrong.
Four boyfriends, four different scenarios. All died just before we would celebrate our second anniversary. Four different funerals all in a space of ten years. Each time, it came like a thief waiting until love bloomed before swinging its blade. Each time leaving me in a state of des-pair. Sweating like I was fighting a battle only I could see. Not the regular kind of sweating.
The kind that leaves your sheets wet at night. The kind that damps your pillow with tears. That kind that leans on you and leaves people asking if you're okay or battling a health condi-tion. The kind that makes you realize you're in a much worse condition. The kind that makes you realize that you're cursed.
When I got to college, I turned away from love and locked the locks to my heart. I avoided people both male and female. No friends, nor parties, or anything that could warrant me to associate with people. I was tired of being the reason for people's deaths. Tired of living with the constant guilt.
I loved only my books and education. I learnt to cherish my company more. I never went near love.
But that was until Jack came into the picture.
He had walked up to me in the hidden section of the library. The history section, which was hardly touched except for special assignments or exams. The corner I had made my sanctu-ary just to avoid contact with people. It smelled of old paper and forgotten names. Safe.
“Excuse me,” I heard a voice say, soft but firm.
Gently, I looked up to see a boy with a smile that melts hearts and eyes kinder than my Dad's. He had in his hands a copy of "Half of a Yellow Sun." He wore a shirt that was slightly bigger than his body and a clean haircut.
“I was told you know where Chimamanda Adichie's books are hiding.”
I stared at him with eyes that held no emotions. “I don’t,” I said quickly and returned to my books.
But instead of leaving, he continued. "Really?" He pulled a seat and sat across from me. “You don’t mind, right?”
"I mind. I never asked you to sit." I replied without looking at him.
He scoffed and remained seated. From time to time, he tried engaging me in a conversation, but I never replied to him. It got to a point where I packed my books and left the library.
But Jack never stopped. He kept on showing up at the library every day. Slowly, like water slipping through a crack in the wall, until he made a space in my life.
Our friendship blossomed. He made talking to him very easy. He made me rethink friend-ships as long as it wasn't intimate. Although I could still see he had questions about me and why I had no friends. He barely voiced it, but I could see it in his eyes.
“Why are you always acting like you're bracing for a disaster?" He had asked me one time.
I scoffed. “I’m not. I'll just call it being careful.”
“Or afraid?”
I looked away. “Maybe both,” I finally admitted in a calm voice.
“Of what exactly? It's not like the world is ending tomorrow?”
I really looked at him this time. And for a few seconds I wanted to bare it all. His gaze on me didn't falter either. I swallowed hard. “Of hurting people.”
He leaned back on his chair and laughed heartily. “You? Hurt people? Have you seen your-self, Linda? You can barely hurt a fly.”
“You don’t know me,” I whispered with a mean face.
I kept trying my best to push him away. But he never bulged. According to him, he was just seeking company, mere friendships, and nothing more. But I knew he was hiding his true feelings. I saw it in his eyes. In the way they lingered on me when I wasn't looking. I knew it was just a matter of time before he voiced it.
I finally let him in on why we wouldn't be a thing. Just to scare him away. And save him from me.
I told him about Tony. About Bayo. Chuks. Daniel. I told him how every boy I loved died be-fore or on our second anniversary. I told him how I've lived with guilt all my life. How I was cursed.
But instead of staying away. Jack drew closer the more.
“Maybe you’ve just had terrible luck. But I don’t think love is the problem.”
“Not when it kills the people I love.”
“I’m not scared.”
I pulled back. I raised an eyebrow. “No Jack, you should be scared.”
“Of what? Loving you?"
"Of dying!"
"Then I’ll die loving you,” he said simply reaching for my hands.
I walked away. Scared, sweating, confused, yet somehow, I still let him in.
We took our time to build our love. Gradually but consistently. Till we crossed the two-year mark. And trust me I sweated like no other within those periods. But Jack he didn't. He be-lieved nothing would happen. And truly, nothing bad happened. We celebrated our anniver-sary at a resort in Lagos, toes buried in warm sand, wind in our hair.
And for the first time in years, I let myself breathe again. I slept well at night. Especially at night when Jack cuddled me to sleep. I hardly sweat anymore. My life became colorful again. And to add to it. I bought myself a pair of lipsticks and new colourful clothes.
The curse had lifted. I thought.
We sat for our final exams in school. And to celebrate it, Jack and I decided to attend our class party. Laughing with our hands clasped, under cheap disco lights in a local bar.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you more,” I replied as I planted a kiss on his lips.
That night, we left the party at almost midnight. Jack drove while I leaned my head on his shoulder, humming along to our favorite song "like I do" by Fireboy" blasting on the car ra-dio. I was in my happiest moments.
Then it happened.
A truck. On the wrong lane. Fast headlights and darkness everywhere.
All I could remember was our loud screams and the metal scraping hard against the earth. I remember his hand slipping from mine.
Then I woke up in a hospital bed. Bandaged from head to toe. I turned to see my parents by my side. I looked out the window, and the sky was crying. Then I thought of him.
“Jack, Where’s Jack?” I asked.
The room went silent. I searched their faces but no one could look me in the eye. No one could tell me he was okay. That was when I knew the curse had struck again.
It had waited. Three years, just to prove its point. Three years just to toy with my heart and dent my happiness.
Now, I sit alone in my room. Sweating again. Back to who I was before. Back to the colour-less life I used to know.
And as for love? I buried it last night beside Jack's grave.