Yetunde Chapter 7! 🤭❤️

​50%? 

50%????  

That fucking bastard. 

He told her it was 5%. She looked down at the bottles in her hand unsure of what she was seeing. 50%??? How? Was this all a plan all along? Did Moh-no Mohammed trick her? What the hell was going on? 

She was uncertain of everything. Did anything happen with Mohammed the other day? Was it all a genuine mix up? No, she wasn’t stupid. She was sure of one thing though. She was angry. The bottles came shattering on the clean wooden floors in rage. 

Her head began to go round in circles, a mild headache coming up already. She had to remember, she had to get to the roots of whatever happened. Her memory needed to be of help in one way or the other. Feeling a slight dizziness and feeling like filth still in the clothes Mohammed touched that morning, she hurriedly took the plain nightgown off and ran into the shower. 

The possibility that Mohammed had touched her was making her run mad. Like a mad woman, she had started to scrub her sensitive skin harshly, trying to get rid of the possibility that his hands roamed on her body and the same time, screaming at herself to remember. 

 

She was going nuts. 

After 30 minutes of allowing the hot water burn her skin, she stepped outside the bathroom feeling slightly refreshed but still the same amount of disgust. Her head began to hurt as she held it trying to make it stop banging. 

She remembered Mohammed’s voice from the night before. 

‘’Yeye, I’m sorry. Let me stay here please, I’m very drunk. I can’t afford to be led outside, You should know the way people are out to get me in this city. Nobody likes a successful man. I’m really sorry I touched you like that. For-for-forgive me.” She remembered him slurring. The man was shitfaced drunk. 

Or was he pretending? 

She remembered feeling pity for the drunk 6 foot friend of her husband and leading him to the couch to have a seat. She remembered him staggering and sliding his hands on her waist for balance. 

She remembered how she had wanted to vomit with the sight and feel of his fingers on her waist. She remembered his slurring words again. 

Uttering ‘ba-ba-bal-lance’ in the most disgusting of ways. 

She remembered dumping him on the floor refusing for him to use that as a pity excuse to lay his hands on her. She remembered how she had changed her mind and wanted him to leave already. She remembered saying to him:

“See, Mohammed you have a driver. And I’m pretty sure he’s at your beck and call. I can call him for you but for now, you need to leave my house. Gbogbo rada rada yi, see I do not appreciate the touches and most certainly, I don’t think my husband would appreciate them either. Besides, it’s just 5%. Ahaan, Why are you so drunk?”

She remembered him beginning to raise his voice to beg her to let him stay. 

She remembered telling him to reduce his voice for fear that the neighbors might hear a man saying ‘please Yetunde’. 

That wouldn’t do too good for her reputation. 

She remembered him swearing by his life to keep his hands to himself and not be a bother to her. 

She remembered accepting it and allowing him to sleep on the couch, generally tired of conversing with him and desperately needed to be left alone to wonder about her husband. 

She remembered him laying on the couch falling asleep. 

She remembered settling down on the couch opposite him, her thoughts wandering to her husband thinking to herself

 

What would Dayo be doing right now? 

He most definitely wouldn’t be in the company of a drunk man missing me sha.. she remembered thinking. 

She remembered the amount of pain that thought brought her. 

And she remembered downing all of that pain with alcohol. On some days, she’d solve her problems with healthy thinking and a positive mindset but today, alcohol would have to suffice. 

The first glass was useless. She still felt hurt after it. 

The second glass came with disappointment but the third glass? 

Served it’s purpose. 

 

She remembered feeling considerably light after the third glass and letting out a deep sadistic laughter. It was better to laugh than cry right? She remembered laughing so much Mohammed stirred in his sleep and opened his eyes to look at her. 

 

And then, she stopped remembering.  What the hell was wrong with her memory? Why was it going off and on at its own desire? What the hell was going on? 

 

On the other hand, more than a thousand miles away from Yetunde, Chioma sat, devising a plan to get Dayo in her arms, his lips on hers. It was obvious he wouldn’t agree to kiss her on a normal day and all her plans to seduce him aforetime had proved futile, so what was the way out? How could she get exactly what she wanted to get this godforsaken man out of her mind? 

 

Would he agree to be blindfolded? Would he be open to the idea of not using his sense of sight? 

C’mon there was a war going on. No general would agree to that. 

But in exchange for explicit information, she was sure he’d be ready to make that sacrifice. 

And then she started hatching her plans. 

A devious woman making even more devious plans. 

 

She set out for the Yoruba’s camp ground hoping to start the plan. She saw him organizing a group of men and distributing ammunition to them for ample practice. 

For the ‘war’ at hand. 

She had given him her grandfather’s perfectly crafted lie about how there was a war the Igbos were planning but was yet to give him the location. 

What Dayo was unaware of though? It was a set up. The Igbos would not be at Mount Benha but would plant a bomb waiting for them there. 

It was a big setup and she? She was just a pawn in this game.

All was fair in love and war ofcourse. 

Love. 

 

She walked up to him slightly brushing past his arm.  The strong smell of masculine prowess passing her nose. She inhaled. So deeply. She was obsessed with this man. How did his smell affect her so and put her senses in a maze?? 

What power did he hold over her?

 

“Finally. I have a lot of questions to ask you Chioma. And I’m not here to play any of your games today.” Dayo said without turning back to meet her eye. His voice. Damn. She was a gone woman. 

But she was a woman on a mission so she stood up straighter and cleared her throat. 

“Ofcourse you do. I have better information for you though.”

 

He finally sprung back to look at her. She stared at him. How did none of her tactics seem to work on him? How was this man not uncontrollably in love with her already? How was it even possible? The one man she wanted was a forbidden love that dared to not feel the same. Even in a minute way. How?

 

“What information do you have? And go straight to the point.”

 

“Aren’t you interested in seeing the Igbo’s training ground? Listen to the plans they have for you? Or even plan an ambush? I’m no illiterate in how this war thing works but I’m sure you know better. Don’t you think it’s a great opportunity?”

 

Dayo. On the other hand, was speechlesss. She had told him her grandfather was the commander but this woman really had a lot to offer. Or was this some elaborate plan? Was she in on the plan? Was he going to accept her offer? 

 

“I know it seems like a set up. Like I’m planning something. But I swear on my life, It’s really not. But yes yes, you can have some of your men stay nearby for support. But I  have a condition.”

 

He looked at her. Nodding upwards, signaling her to speak up. He was a man who thought before he spoke or took action so he would listen to what exactly she had to say before deciding whether or not to turn her down. Which was what he always did. 

She always came up with the most stupid conditions.

“I need you blindfolded.”

He looked her up and then down. What was this woman’s plan? He’d be blindfolded but his men could follow them from a distance? Did she want him dead? Was this another set up? What did she want? 

“Are you listening to yourself? I get to take weapons along, take my men along but I just need to be blindfolded?” 

What exactly are you going to gain from this?

 

‘I must seem like a woman to not be trusted but this one time, trust me. The men are to show you I’m not taking you to your place of death. The weapons to show you you can defend yourself if you want but I just need you to trust me.’

 

Reluctantly, he looked at her and nodded his head What was the worst that could happen? 

 

He walked away from her, gathered 3 of his closest men and told them to follow him at a close distance and walked to where she was standing. 

She knew what that was clue for. 

Let’s go. 

And ofcourse she obliged. 

She had been wanting this for a long time.

Dear Reader, 

I’ve missed you. They say your heart continues to ache until it finds something it loves to do than beat. And my heart has been aching. Maybe because all i’ve done these days has been anything, but writing. But last week was very peaceful for me. My heart didn’t ache, I got so much rest, My head’s in place and i was able to write a lot! 

Expect a lot in this space and maybe, something more (if i do not chicken out of it). 

This, is me proposing a truce. By giving you what you really want, A Yetunde piece. I believe you guys have been starved long enough. 

You see that i actually love you guys? 

I do.

And yes, you can believe my words. 

I’m anything but a liar, infact they irk me but I’m a writer 😂😂. 

This is a lot of chitchat already. I’d love to hear what everyone has going on though. 

Leave me a life update in the comment section if you can! 

Or just drop a comment about what you think of this chapter! 

Is Mohammed a bastard or Is Yetunde dumb?

Do you think Chioma’s plan will work? 

Please let me know! 

Reminder that I love you guys! 

- Your favorite loving writer ❤️.

PS: Do you think writers make good liars???!