Six

Nothing ever scared Jasmine as what she felt in that moment, when Marcelo kissed the life out of her lips. As she laid there on her bed, in the middle of the night, unable to sleep, her mind knotted hard on the memory: his touch; how his hands moved over her body, across her skin, gently caressing every spot he touched in the most erotic manner ever. The possessiveness of his lips against hers; never leaving her a second of control. It was all him. Even when she'd been so weak in her knees that she couldn't stand, he'd been her pillar: taking her small frame up to meet his movements, his demands. God! If not for the fact that she could still hear herself think, she would have been helpless in stopping him from taking her right there.

Now she wondered: "what will he be thinking of me?"

What will he be thinking of her?  Because she'd discarded him horribly when she'd felt his hands slipping under her shirt. It felt good! Really good! Her body craved for more at that moment, but her mind thought otherwise. It felt good as it felt wrong! Her mother would've buried her if she'd ever heard of something so shameful about a child she'd raised with sweat and blood to make a difference in the society. The society itself would have made of her an object for humiliation even though majority of them were no different or even worst than her.

"Stop!" She'd whispered under her breath, feeling his flesh run deeper under her top. Seeing her words had no effect on his psych, she had actually shouted, "stop!!! Marcelo stop it! I gave you your tour and that's it! It's over now! I don't ever want to see you again if this is how you treat people!"

If only Jasmine knew how hard it had been for Marcelo to withhold himself from that very first day; every time she'd talk too much, all the times she hadn't understood his Italian cusses, the times she was just quietly seated, avoiding his gazes. The willpower he'd used to restrain himself from kissing her every single of those times was enough to change the country's political situation. He never had that control before. He never even had problem with getting women; they just normally fell at his feet. He had them when he wanted them. Even his stay in Cameroon made no difference. Half of the ladies he'd had met looked at him like a plate of chocolate flavoured ice cream. They all wanted him. They mostly checked his ring finger for a sign of commitment to another. He just smirked every single time. He was a free bird that could never be tamed. If he wanted, he'd have had at least ten girls to fill his bed and calm his nerves. He had their password: money and macho. But he had been too busy thinking about getting his life back on track than getting laid.

All that, was until Jasmine.

Now Marcelo laid on his bed. Sleepless nights were his friends but never had he ever spent one thinking about a girl he practically just met and only kissed. She had awoken something inside of him. A need he never felt before! And he had only just kissed her. He tried convincing his mind that the girl named Jasmine was trouble; the kind of trouble he should avoid or discard. But he already had it planned in his mind to get to her the following day.

................

"Ebane! Ebane!!!" Jasmine's mother shouted. It was so unlike her daughter to still be in bed and such a time in the morning. If only she knew, the girl had barely slept for two hours all night true.

Inside the room, Jasmine threw a pillow over her ears to block out the bothers. The one time she actually wanted to sleep in. She didn't even have school to be bothered about. But mama Rachel was being the big pain in her neck.

"Edimo! You better get up from that bed before I bring cold water," mama Geraldine continued shouting. She wasn't joking. If Jasmine wasn't out of the bed in the giving time, ice cold water will be poured over her sleeping form. Frustrated, Jasmine drew the pillow her head;

"God why nah? Why me?" She murmured, "Mummy I'm up already!" She lied still lying on the bed,

"You're up! And you're still on the bed? Ma friend get up from that bed and come and go to the market for me!"

"Ah ah mummy! Market! What is Jenna doing nah?" Jasmine grumbled,

"How would you know when you're busy sleeping? She has already gone to school."

Jasmine got up from the bed grumbling like a million things to herself. She cleaned up and went downstairs to the kitchen where her mother sat peeling cocoyam. The was already a list on the counter, with a ten thousands francs note on top. Jasmine picked up the list, read it's content,

"I hope you're not expecting me to bring back change oh," she said as she grabbed both papers and shoved them inside a white purse.

"It's like you don't want to eat in this house for the next five years," her mother answered, pointing a muddy knife at her,

"Ah ah mummy! For ordinary 2k! I will not eat in this house for four years!"

"When you have worked 2k, then you can call it ordinary, let's see how it tastes in your mouth. Ewu! My friend go and get me things to use and finish this cooking. I still have work."

Jasmine just smiled happily to herself knowing heir tradition with her mother never died. They always conversed with each other like concubines.

She left and went to the OIC market. She got everything on her list and stood at the roadside, waiting for a taxi. That was when she saw the so very familiar white Range Rover driving upwards. Her heart raced ten times its normal rate. She thought of hiding but couldn't find any suitable spot. She looked at her attire, checking if she looked fine. If Marcelo had to see her, she'd better look right. But she so wasn't looking right. Her hair was tied messily, her forehead was covered in sweat. She wore a pair of canvas slippers under her sweat pants and faded green tank top.

Shit!

How could she have forgotten Marcelo still lived in Buea. And why the hell did she care so much about how she looked before him.

Whatever!

She told herself. She didn't care about how she looked to him. He might not even notice her. And plus, she didn't care.

She lied.

Her fingers trembled against the bag of foodstuff she was carrying. 

Marcelo had been driving from town, where he got some stuff to help him with his plans to lure a certain brown skin girl to him. He was listening to to a classical soundtrack when his eyes caught sight of an angel. Her arms exposed under her tank top, her sweatpants clinging to her figure like it held their life. He gawked over the glow of her dark skin under the sun, the highlight sweat and natural oil gave to her face. This temptress had been haunting his mind since the first day. In such a way he would do anything just to have her. Reaching where she stood, he pulled over and rolled down his glass,

"Chicca!!! Can I give you a ride?"