The Edge of Commitment

Written by Gerald Difu @Obiokoroa4

Scene 1: love lost

Saying goodbye to her was hard, but it was necessary.

He would definitely miss her, the way she smelt like fresh summer morning in Paris when he woke up in the morning on the days they were fortunate enough to spend together. Her warm assuring smile which was complimented by two heavenly sculptured dimples; her eyes squint in joy at the presence of him by her side. It was too much to sacrifice,

it was too much to let go of. But he knew he had to, he believed it was the right thing to do.

Everyone felt he was crazy. He probably was…

How did he get here? Speaking to a friend over a cold bottle of beer; he recalled his days as Brad Alaba. Love letters, poems, and creative romantic gestures. He could sacrifice his time with anyone for a chance to be with someone he loved.

He would give anything to keep Rachel; he would have fought tooth and nail and believed in himself. But he had lost it all, no optimism; he had lost hope in himself and in doing so he had lost hope in love. He felt like a failure around her. It wasn’t her fault, it was his and he knew it. He didn’t get why she could have so much faith in him. He didn’t deserve her.

His story was almost always the same. He changed for her. He didn’t want to go back to who he was again. He couldn’t. It was very horrible past, but it was one most guys would have loved to live and one a lot of guys would love to go back to. He felt he was better, he knew he was better. He would be better for her. He would win her back, or so he thought.

This is not a bragging story, it isn’t one to teach you how to get laid, nor is it one to scrutinize the female gender. On the contrary, it is a twisted love story. It is about finding love and losing it, it is about risk, life and love. It was about RACHEL

To start this story we have to back track six years…

It begun that wild 24^th December night; they had lost count of the drinks, they had lost count of the joints, they had lost count of the songs danced to. Right now the night looked a bit gay to Brad.

Brad wasn’t a hunk, he wasn’t you regular fine boy who visited the barber or checked his mirror before he went out, he wasn’t even an amazing dresser. He was for all intentions and purpose… “Casual”. He didn’t have smooth words nor was he a Shakespeare. The only French he knew was bonjour and the only thing he had achieved was his University degree…That was enough. Wasn’t it?

Damn that last stout was hitting all the wrong notes. He had to get home, and he wasn’t the only one thinking it. Phil and Peter argued who would drive home. Peter was older, Peter won the battle.

On the way home the phone rang. Brad almost forgot about his father’s illness. The drink had done most of the magic it could have done on Brad’s imagination. But it could never take away the pain which hit him next…

His father was dead.

To be continued…