The truth is Yara has never had a problem with men. At six, she had broken the hearts of two boys. And after that, well let’s just say she knew she won’t be wearing white to her wedding.
She liked to think of herself as Everybody’s Girl. Totally unselfish.
Now, Yara tries on a midnight blue backless dress, then a see-through bright yellow one. Finally, she settles on a black short silk dress with half her chest on display. She wears black underwear under it and it fits like a second skin. She picks out a pair of red daring heels to match her bold red lipstick. She puts her brown faux locs in a big bun, black drip glasses sliding ever so slighting down her nose. Finally, her golden hoop earrings. She picks up her phone and takes a picture. Caption: Hide your men. She posts it on her WhatsApp status.
They haven’t met very often but the few times have been great. She meets him at odd places like university hotel rooms during the vacation. He drives there in his black Kia with his tinted windows rolled up. Tonight, they meet at a little shack that might be called a bar if a bar sells cheap alcohol with terrible live band. His wife calls, asking what to cook for dinner; she sounds quite happy. Almost has happy as Yara is at that moment. There is something about knowing you have something someone thinks they have to themselves, that makes everything so much more pleasurable. He follows her on Instagram under a different name, almost always the first to like every picture of hers.
Solo holds her hand. The right one with four rings.
“I’ll take you home with me tonight”, he says, pink lips perfect in the awful green light.
“Won’t your wife be home?”, Yara asks.
“Exactly, where is your sense of fun?”.
“You know all my five sense are fun. I’m sure if you’re sure”, Yara replies with a smirk quickly forming on her face.
“Let’s go.” He grabs her hand and they stumble out into his car to break a heart.
Maybe it’s the irony of white sheets or that his wife is next door but Yara feels so high.
“Hey, Solo”, his wife says, standing by the doorway.
Yara knows it’s her because she’s been stalking her for months. Yara knows she graduated from UCC and opened a tailoring shop. Yara doesn’t cover her naked body, a smug smile forms on her lips. She turns to see Solomon smiling too.
His wife, Judy, walks over and hugs him.
“I’ll bring the food in”, she says.
‘Hey there? What does that mean?’, Yara thinks.
It’s takes a moment for her to understand. Solomon never looked nervous when they were out, he never spoke about his wife being suspicious. A sickening realization dawns on her. Suddenly, Yara knows she has been cheated on all these years. She was not the one who knew she had something someone thought they had all to themselves. She was not the one stealing. She picks up her clothes, feeling she’s already wrapped in a web of hurt and lies. Solo doesn’t even try to stop her. He watches quietly. Yara wonders how many more there are, like her.
She sits in an uber; pieces of her heart floating above her but they stay there in the uber with her because they have nowhere to go. She’s mumbling something. Our girl Yara, has gone mad. She throws her hooping earrings out the uber window. She cleans her now bloody-no longer bold- lipstick with the back of her hand. She deletes her twitter, Instagram and WhatsApp account. She deletes all pictures of him, of his wife, of him and her. She looks quite insane with her lips smeared red and mascara spread around her eyes. You can tell she is going to build a shrine. she picks every dress she’s worn to see him out of her wardrobe and straight into the little fire she’s built.
She looks at the map she’s created on the wall, filled with pictures of Solo and his wife. Those she’d printed from the internet. She throws a knife into the map, then colours it all red with the lipstick she wore tonight.