I’m not guilty

I stared at the ceiling, my mind restless and tangled in a web of thoughts. It was the third time in a row that I found myself awake before dawn, unable to find solace in sleep. Anxiety gnawed at my insides as I contemplated the uncertain future that awaited me with the rising sun.

The weight of my options pressed upon me, a choice between fleeing from this place or surrendering to the notion of ceasing to exist at all. The fear gripped me, yet a part of me yearned to stand up against the forces that plagued my mind, blaming them on some external devil. But reason whispered that it was a foolish notion, a feeble attempt to shift responsibility. I was here because they believed I possessed intelligence, though in this moment, I felt anything but smart.

Images from "Native Son" flashed before my eyes, the haunting scene of Bigger Thomas burning Mary's body in the furnace. What if I could? What if...?

A surge of desperation coursed through me, but deep down, I knew I wasn't capable of such horrors. I jumped out of bed, glancing at the wall clock. The late hour confirmed my troubled state, but I dared not check my phone, which remained switched off since Beatrice delivered the news.

The thought of her father's potential call sent shivers down my spine. I wasn't ready to face his voice now. Until just two nights ago, my nights were filled with conversations with Beatrice, extending well into the midnight hours. We pretended to study for an hour during the day, but the rest of our time was spent locked away in intimacy.

I was aware of the dangers, the line I tiptoed upon. Beatrice was the embodiment of temptation, her flawless skin and perfect smile captivating my senses. I knew better than to confess my desires, for her father was a force to be reckoned with, ready to unleash his wrath upon anyone who dared to harm his precious daughter. Not her mother, not even me, her tutor. His warning echoed in my mind, a clear message that I ignored at my own peril.

There were moments when I contemplated leaving this job, but could I survive on the meager monthly allowance provided by the government? Could I sustain myself as a "big boy" in Port Harcourt on a paltry sum of 33,000 naira? No, I had to endure, to teach Beatrice and retreat. That was the plan, until it wasn't.

It all began innocently enough with hugs. Oh, how she embraced me! Each hug lingered a bit longer, accompanied by compliments that stirred my desires. Her words, "You smell so nice, uncle" or "I love your lips," awakened a part of me that yearned for her. She unlocked a hidden chamber in my mind, and suddenly, I saw her everywhere—in my waking moments and even in my dreams. It became clear why Samson couldn't resist Delilah's allure.

In my defense, she seduced me, and it would have been irresponsible to reject her advances. But now, I was trapped in a cycle of desire, a curse that consumed my every thought. I couldn't help but envision my lifeless body returned to my mother in Lagos, my obituary a testament to my downfall: "Adekunle, 24, finally laid to rest because of the embrace of a woman's bosom."

For the first time in months, I didn't anticipate the arrival of a new day. The future held no allure, no promise. I longed to return to the past, to that day when Beatrice whispered her dangerous proposition, urging me to abandon the use of protection. And yet, she wasn't even a virgin.

Doubts plagued my mind. Was the life growing within her truly mine? Or was I merely a pawn in a much larger game, ensnared by the consequences of my desires?