Chapter 4: Drifting into the Void

The rhythm had gone on for two hours, hard, and tiring. He didn't slow down, didn't get tired, and not one single drop of sweat came off him. While my skin was hot and burning up like fire, his body stayed cold and smooth. It left me feeling empty inside, just holding onto the echoes of what he had just done to my body.

When he finally reached his finish, it happened fast and hard. A deep sound ripped right out of his chest, shaking the whole room before he dropped down on top of me for a minute. That heavy weight reminded me that even though he felt strange and cold, he was still flesh and blood.

I held onto him tight, my fingers digging deep into his shoulder muscles while my chest went up and down fast. I tried to pull enough air into my lungs to stop the room from spinning, feeling my hot body cool down next to his freezing skin. Silence rushed back into the room like a heavy wave—thick and quiet, with no sweet talk or promises to fix the gap between us.

He pulled back, his eyes dark and blank. He stared right through me like his mind was miles away, leaving me with a sharp pain in my chest. I just wanted him to look at me and say something about what we shared, but his face stayed shut tight.

Standing up smooth and easy, he scooped me into his arms like I weighed nothing at all. He carried me out of the warm bedroom and into the cold bathroom made of white marble and shiny chrome. He didn't say a single word while he took care of me. He soaked a thick towel in warm water and started wiping the sweat and all the mess off my skin with slow, careful moves. He cleaned me like I was something valuable and delicate, but his touch still felt empty of human warmth.

As I looked up into the big mirror, something made me pause. For a second, I could have sworn the man behind me wasn't the same one staring back at me in the glass. I blinked hard. Everything looked normal again. I shook my head, telling myself I was just tired.

When he was done, he wrapped me up in a silk robe and stood behind me at the big marble mirror, putting his heavy hands on my shoulders so I had no choice but to look at both of us together. His tall, dark body towered over my small frame like a king looking at his prize, while I looked like a shadow fading away behind him.

He dragged a cold finger down my neck, making me gasp out loud, but I didn't pull away. He was showing everybody this was his place, making me realize I already handed him the keys to my life. I knew deep down I would probably do it all over again, even with all the scary shadows hiding in the corners of the house.

Once I was clean, he carried me back to the bed where the silk sheets felt like ice. As he pulled me close against his chest, tiredness took over. I rested my head on him, listening close to hear if his heart was beating.

There was nothing at all. Just an empty silence where a life should have been knocking.

My face pressed against his cold skin, and I couldn't help noticing how freezing he still was, even after everything we just did. But I didn't care to fight it anymore.

Lying there in the dark, my eyes drifted around the room. I took a little peek out toward the big living room space. The house looked well furnished and rich, but I hadn't seen the whole building yet since we got there around nine at night and the lights had been dim and quiet.

My mind started racing as I stared up into the dark. I began wondering: what if he actually takes me serious? What if this wasn't a one-night hookup? I was sick and tired of the Lagos streets. I was bone tired of going from one club to another club every single night, hunting for some rich man who would take me home for the night and kick me out by morning. I wanted a real break. I was hoping, really hoping deep down in my heart, that this weird rich man would keep me around for good.

The thought of how empty he felt should have sent me running straight out the front door, but I was too drained to care about warning signs. I let out a long, shaky breath, pressing my cheek harder against his cold chest, and fell fast asleep within seconds, dropping into a deep, dreamless sleep wrapped in the arms of a man who felt less like a husband and more like a walking mystery.

I didn't worry about the dark empty house, or the way the rooms felt like a cold tomb. In that moment of giving up, I was happy to drift away, believing—maybe even lying to herself—that I finally found my place in the world right there in the arms of someone not quite alive, yet making me feel more alive than I had ever been in my whole life.

I tossed slightly in my sleep, chasing the last bits of warmth left in the bed, but the cold from his body kept creeping back in. Outside the window, the wind started howling louder, hitting the glass like someone trying to knock and get inside before morning came. Still, I didn't budge. I pulled the edge of the silk blanket over my shoulder, tucking myself tighter against his chest, completely ready to face whatever came next when the sun finally rose over the quiet, lonely house.

Deep in the middle of the night, the heavy quiet of the house shifted a little. Down in the long hall, the floorboards let out a loud groan under something heavy that was not human. Dark shadows crawled along the walls, turning toward the stairs like they could smell the warm skin sleeping upstairs. I moved in my sleep, grumbling against his cold chest before sinking back into the thick, dark fog holding my brain. He didn't blink once, didn't shift a single muscle, just stared wide-eyed straight at the ceiling, waiting for morning to break over the dead place, unaware that the bedroom door handle was slowly, silently turning from the outside.