CHEATING IS UNFORGIVABLE

My boyfriend’s eyes wavered with fright as I held the gun against his head.

 

“Plea–se do–n't do thi-is,” he stuttered, and I could almost hear his heart thumping. 

 

“But I must do,” I sobbed, gripping the gun tightly, “You know cheating is unforgivable.”

 

Yes, I’m about to commit a murdēr.

 

I am about to kīll Habeeb, my boyfriend, because of that flawed act that could crumble down the walls of a solid relationship, that act called “Cheating”.

 

It has been barely two months since I knew Habeeb. I had met him in the auto shop where I often went to repair my car whenever it developed one of its unrelenting faults. He was a newly employed mechanic there. I was stunned beyond words at his beauty, my face burning with shyness and my mouth shuddering, incomprehensible words falling out from it as I tried to explain what was wrong with my car. But, he had understood through the gibberish I spoke that the battery had gone flat. We had peeked at each other from the corners of our eyes, our faces saying what we were too afraid to speak. My fingers tinged with sensation when they brushed against his as I handed him my card for payment after he was done with the car. 

 

Three days later, I returned to the shop to pump my tyres although they looked okay, and numbers were exchanged graciously. We texted each other many nights and would go asleep with memories of several teasing that hinted at what we hoped for. Barely a week later, he invited me over to his house to treat me to a nice dish of Okro soup after I told him during one of our conversations that I haven’t tasted the soup before and then dared him to prove his abilities when he said he made it the tastiest.

 

That day, I tasted not only Okro soup but Habeeb himself. We had sat on the tiny couch in his tiny parlor to watch a movie on Netflix after we were done eating, and the next thing I could remember was my head resting on the couch and my āss hiked high in the air, Habeeb ramming into me from behind, his heated moans and grunts washing over and falling unto me even before his sweat did. That was the first time but not the last as I often returned to Habeeb’s house for more; he knew how to touch those places that made my toes curl. 

 

Despite how good Habeeb was in bed, I was reluctant to be his girlfriend when he asked me to, but I finally agreed after his relentless persistence, but that was after I requested that we should keep it a secret from the public.

 

“I love you,” Habeeb had said to me one day while he cuddled me on his bed after a loud sēx, but I didn’t say it back.

 

"Thank you," I stammered.

 

The next day, I visited Habeeb's house, but he could hardly look at me, and when I touched him, he flinched away like my hand was made out of burning coal.

 

"What's wrong?" I sighed.

 

"I don't think I can share you with another man," Habeeb replied, shaking his head vigorously. I want you to be mine. I want people to know about us, to know how much I love you."

 

I didn't speak for a minute. When I finally spoke, my voice was low but it carried a barely restrained irritation and anger. "You know we can't."

 

"Why?" Habeeb retorted, the muscles of his neck jutting out and his face turning red. "Is it because of your husband? That pot-bellied old thing."

 

"Yes!" I screamed. "Yes!" I took a deep breath to calm my nerves, then I spoke more gently. "You know he was the one who trained me in school, and he's helping my family. He's about to send my younger brother to Dubai. Everything I have, he gave to me. He will not forgive me for cheating. Chidube will not."

 

Habeeb wouldn't hear. He couldn't understand that cheating is unforgivable and that Chidube, my husband will throw me out If he learned I was sleeping with another man. By the time I left, Habeeb was still angry. He kept repeating that he wanted me for himself and would do anything to have me.

 

My heart skipped a beat when I was making food for my husband and children that night. Habeeb had texted me.

 

His text read: "I don't care what happens. Tomorrow, I will tell your husband about us, and if he divorces you, I'll marry you." 

 

After contemplating for a while, I texted him back. "Okay. I'll come over tomorrow so we'll go to his office and tell him."

 

The next day, no sooner had Habeeb opened the door for me, still buttoning his shirt, than I had pulled a Glock out of my handbag. It was my husband's private gun. I had taken it from his drawer for this. 

 

"What are you doing, Kemi?" Habeeb asked, startled, as I held up the gun at him, his eyes wide with confusion. 

 

I explained to him that although I loved him, I won't allow him to live because he'd tell my husband about us, and this would crumble my marriage, and all the money and properties that my husband had given to me and my family will be seized. 

 

"Chidube made me know from the onset that he does not forgive cheating. I'm sorry, I can't be poor again. My family depends on me," I cried, a look of determination darkening my face.

 

“Plea–se, do–n't do thi-is,” Habeeb stuttered, and I could almost hear his heart thumping. 

 

“But I must do,” I sobbed, gripping the gūn tightly, “You know cheating is unforgivable.”

 

"No! Don't, plea—" Habeeb pleaded hysterically, but the words in his mouth faded abruptly and he clutched at his chest as the booming sound echoed throughout his room.

 

I had pulled the triggēr. 

 

© Desmond Ben