More Than a Shoulder to Cry On

Femi yawned as he stared blankly at the spreadsheet on his computer screen, the dull grey cells blurring into one another like fog on glass. His right ear was already itching from the cheap plastic earbud he had jammed in earlier, and he resisted the urge to yank it out. On the other end of the line, Aijay's voice carried on -- sharp, emotional, familiar.

"... and I just walked in, Femi. I walked in and there she was. On his lap! Wearing nothing but a filthy rag and bum shorts that barely covered her arse. Can you imagine?"

Femi could imagine. He could imagine it with crystal clarity, not because he had a vivid imagination, but because this was the fifth--no, the sixth, seventh? he had actually lost count -- time that he'd been summoned to bear witness to the same disaster. Anthony, the serial heartbreaker with the jawline of a Nollywood actor and the morals of an alley cat, had once again proven he could not be tamed.

"It wasn't even subtle this time. And she had the nerve to look at me like I was the intruder."

Femi sighed and shook his head. It was always the same. The same fucking endless loop. Ijeoma, or Aijay (pronounced Ai-Jay, though people often just went with the shorter IJ) -- calling, heartbroken and breathless, and Femi always there to listen. He was the designated emotional first responder, the human tissue box. She cried, he consoled. She vowed it was the last straw, and he nodded with what strength he could muster. Then two weeks later, Anthony would show up at her place with some weak apology, flashing those same smirking eyes and white teeth, and all would be forgiven--until the next girl, the next betrayal, the next call.

It was the classic simp story--guy is the "best friend" of a pretty girl who just so happens to be dating a certified player. Women orbit the player like moths to an Instagram ring light, and the girl keeps getting her heart shattered. Simp is always there, wiping her tears, whispering soothing words to her ears, holding her together when she falls apart. Still--despite all the heartbreak, despite the endless tears, despite every warning from friends and reality--she keeps going back. Again and again and again. Telling simp, and anyone else who'll listen, that player will change. Hoping that things will be different this time.

Hope they say, is one hell of a drug.

Femi reached for his coffee, only to find the cup empty. The spreadsheet on his screen was still waiting for him to sort column C, but his attention was pulled between the open laptop and the voice unraveling on the phone.

"You deserve better, Aijay," he rumbled, the words tumbling out with the ease of muscle memory. He had said them so many times before they no longer had any meaning. "Seriously. This guy is not worth your tears."

"But you don't understand, Femi," she said, her voice catching. "He wasn't always like this."

Femi rubbed the bridge of his nose and leaned back in his chair. Ode gbaa ni girl yi (This girl is very stupid). If he had a naira for every time she'd made that statement, he would have been able to afford better earbuds and maybe even a proper vacation -- somewhere far away from Anthony, Aijay, and their doomed love saga. But still, he stayed on the line. Still, he listened.

Because that's what friends do.

Even when it hurts. Even when it's hopeless.

Even when they wish -- deep down, where they never say it out loud -- that they were the one being loved instead.

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Three weeks later...

The call came at 2:13 a. m.

Femi was fast asleep, one leg tangled in his sheets, when his phone lit up and vibrated furiously. Cursing loudly, he squinted at the screen.

Aijay. The sleep disappeared from his eyes.

"Hello? Aijay?"

He could barely hear her through the din going on in the background. Her voice seemed slurred and uneven, "F-Femi... come get me, pleashhhe."

His heart skipped a beat. "Where are you?"

"Red Door. I think. Or... is it Velvet Lounge now? Whatever they call it these days. You know it... that place by... by the shtupid roundabout near the gash shtation. There's this short fool here--keeps trying to grab my boobsh." She laughed, but it cracked into a sob halfway through. "Can you come and get me?"

Femi groaned. Not this again. "You're drunk."

"Drunk? Pssh. I'm free, okay? Or maybe I'm shtupid. Or maybe I just finally gave up."

He didn't respond. He got out of bed and jumped into a hoodie and joggers. He booked the first Uber he could find at that time of the night.

Twenty minutes later, he pulled up outside the lounge. The music thumped from inside, low and bass-heavy, and the air reeked of sweat, cigarettes, and smoke. The bouncer gave him a bored glance but didn't stop him -- probably mistaking him for another cleanup guy for a mess someone else made.

Femi stepped inside and looked around. Ijeoma sat slumped in a booth just close to the back, legs stretched out, one heel missing. Her wig sat askew on her pretty head, like it had tried to escape but didn't quite make it. Her eyes were bloodshot, her eyeliner smudged into smoky trails. A half-empty highball glass sat beside her, sweating in the night air.

"Feeeemiiii," she called out, waving her hand clumsily as if to catch his attention, "My hero! You came!"

He muttered a curse under his breath. "For heaven's sake, Aijay..."

She tried to stand but lurched, and he caught her just before she toppled over. Her mascara had run, leaving streaks down her cheeks. She looked a mess. A beautiful, chaotic mess.

"What the hell happened to you?" Femi asked.

Aijay let out a bitter laugh. "Same thing that always happens. I caught the bastard. Again. With some other bitch. A new one this time. She had plaited hair too, like mine. Maybe that's his thing now."

Femi sat her back down and she reached out for her drink, but he took it away from her grasp. "That's enough" he said.

"I went to his house tonight," she continued, her voice now breaking into a sob. "I wanted to talk. Just talk. He wouldn't let me in. Just stood there looking me over like I was a disease. Told me to stop embarrassing myself, to leave before the neighbors started filming, not that he cared. He then slammed the door in my fucking face!!!"

Her lips trembled. "So I came here. Because I didn't know where else to go."

"You didn't need to go there," Femi muttered as he helped her up. She wobbled, and he instinctively caught her by the waist.

"You say that like I have a choice," she proffered, "I thought maybe this time..."

"There's never a this time with him," Femi replied, a little more harshly than he intended, "you always go back. Always. Every single time. It's like you enjoy the pain, getting your heart shattered, and each time that happens I get the pathetic call to come pick up the pieces."

She flinched visibly. Femi's chest tightened. "I'm sorry," he added quickly. "I didn't mean--"

"No," she said, voice low. "You meant it. And you're right. I'm pathetic."

"Don't say that," he said, but she was already pulling away from his grasp, swaying on her feet.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," she mumbled, wiping her tears with the back of her hand, "I know he's bad for me, but I still-- I... I still go back."

Femi looked at her, disheveled and broken. He wasn't sure who he was more furious with -- Anthony, that smug bastard who treated her like trash, or Aijay, who kept offering her heart to someone who stomped on it every single time. Or maybe... maybe he was just furious at himself. For always being the one she called. For always picking up. For always showing up when she asked.

"Let's get out of here. Where's your car?"

She blinked. "M... my car?"

"Yes, your car. Did you drive here? Where are your keys?"

She fumbled through her purse for a few seconds before letting it drop with a sigh. "I dunno. Somewhere... I don't know. I think I Ubered."

Femi grabbed her phone and checked her recent Uber requests. Her last trip was from an address he knew was Anthony's house. The one before that was from her place. Both within the last few hours. He let out a quiet sigh of relief and gathered her things. "Good. At least you had the sense to Uber instead of drive."

"I'm not that drunk," she muttered, trying to reach for her drink. He pushed her towards the exit. She swayed, leaned heavily on him as he led her out of the bar. Her wig shifted again, nearly falling off this time, and she giggled, drunk and sad and heartbroken all at once.

"I'm sorry Femi," she whispered. Her breath smelled like rum and vodka. "I keep doing this. I know you're tired."

Femi looked at her, at this beautiful mess of a woman he'd cared about for far too long.

"I am tired, Aijay," he said, "tired of watching you get hurt. Tired of watching him do this to you. Tired of always being the one who picks up the pieces while he keeps breaking them. One day I may not be there."

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Just silence. Just the wind stirring leaves in the trees and the bass coming from inside the bar.

"Let's go," he said quietly, guiding her toward the arriving Uber. "You're coming to my place. You're not going home like this."

Ijeoma didn't resist. Still holding her upright, he opened the door and helped her inside. Her head slumped on his shoulder as they rode through the dark city, and Femi closed his eyes and told himself this had to be the last time.

Even though deep down he knew it wasn't true.

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They got back to his place about thirty minutes later. Femi's apartment was small--a modest one-bedroom affair in a quiet corner of the city--but it was clean, warm, and somewhere he always looked forward to at the end of the day. He unlocked the door, flicked on the lights, and guided her in with a gentle hand on her back.

Aijay moved slowly, her steps uneven as she slipped out of her shoes. She glanced around like she was seeing his apartment for the first time. "I'm really sorry, Femi," she said softly, her voice hoarse from all the alcohol she had consumed, "for all of this... for always being a mess you have to clean up."

"You've said that like ten times already," he replied, locking the door behind them. "It's okay."

He guided her to the bedroom and sat her on the edge of the bed. She looked like she might collapse into it fully clothed, but she managed to stay upright. He reached into the closet and pulled out a plain black T-shirt. It was quite big for her, but that would have to do for the night.

"Here," he said, offering her a towel as well, "take a hot shower. It will make you feel better."

She took it with a soft nod. "Thank you."

She followed him out of the room. "Hang on," he added, moving to the kitchen. He returned with a bottle of water and a couple of painkillers. "For the hangover that's waiting for you."

She smiled weakly, swallowed the painkillers, and lumbered towards the bathroom with the towel clutched to her chest. Femi let out a long, tired breath. He went back into the bedroom and grabbed a pillow and the extra duvet. He flung the pillow onto the carpeted living-room floor. He switched off the lights, leaving the passage light on in case she needed to find her way around, then lay down and stared at the ceiling.

He could hear the rush of the shower. He pictured her standing beneath the stream, the water flowing down her naked body, washing away all the dirt, grime, alcohol and sweat of the evening. He closed his eyes, letting the memories roll in like waves. The first time they met. The late-night calls. The countless times he'd driven out to find her crying.

He exhaled slowly, turning on his side, one arm folded under his head. He didn't know what hurt more--watching her chase the wrong man, or knowing he'd never be the right one in her eyes.

The sound of the shower stopped. Silence returned.

He didn't move. He just lay there, listening. He didn't turn when the bathroom door opened and Ijeoma padded softly to the bedroom. She hadn't noticed him lying on the floor. He didn't respond when she called his name--silently at first, then a little louder. Footsteps. Her silhouette appeared at the edge of the living room, backlit faintly by the glow from the passage. Her eyes adjusted to the low light and finally spotted him.

"Why are you sleeping out here?" Her puzzled voice broke the silence.

Femi turned his head toward her, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. She had wrapped the towel around her body; her shoulders were still wet from her shower. He couldn't read her expression in the darkness.

"I'll sleep here," he said simply, his voice low.

A few moments of silence passed before she stepped a little closer.

"We can sleep together in the room," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I... I don't want to be alone."

Femi sat up slowly on one elbow. For a moment he said nothing--just studied her silently. She looked exhausted. Fragile. Raw. Vulnerable.

"Femi..." she prodded, waiting.

He exhaled. "Go to bed Aijay. Get some rest. You need it."

Her shoulders tensed. "But I--"

"I'm right here," he said with a little firmness in his voice, "I'm not going anywhere. But you should sleep. You had a long day and you need the rest."

Silence. Another heavy moment passed. Then she nodded slowly.

"Okay," she murmured. She turned and walked back to the room, closing the door behind her.

Femi lay back down, staring at the ceiling once more. The apartment was quiet again, save for the occasional creak and the whisper of night. Sleep eluded him; his mind churned, his thoughts chasing each other through his aching brain--about her, about Anthony, about himself. About how long he could keep being her shoulder to cry on.

He remembered the night she confided in him--eyes teary, voice barely above a whisper--that she'd had an abortion. For Anthony. He had first denied the pregnancy, stating firmly that it wasn't his. When she insisted, "he said he wasn't ready to be a father." She'd laughed bitterly afterwards, as if it were just another bad joke in a string of them. Femi had said nothing then. Just held her as she cried.

And now, here she was once more. Still crying. Still hurting. Still giving the remaining pieces of herself to someone who never deserved them. Like she had done several times before.

And he was still there. Always there.

Eventually the exhaustion won. His limbs grew heavy, his breathing evened out, and he drifted.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been out, because the next thing he became aware of was someone snuggling up against him. He was instantly awake.

"Aijay, wha... what are you-"

"Hold me Femi... please," she pleaded, her voice breaking with emotion. She clutched him fiercely, almost desperately, pressing herself into him as if their body contact was still too wide. Her face buried in his chest and a soft, painful sob escaped her lips. He gently put his arms around her and held her tight. She wept like a baby.

They remained like that for what felt like an eternity. His fingers traced soothing lines along her arm, while his other hand rested gently on her waist. She no longer had her wig on, so the scent of her plaited hair drifted to his nostrils. He inhaled deeply -- a lavender hair cream, no doubt.

Her sobs gradually faded into whimpers and then quiet. Other than the occasional sniffle, she seemed to have exhausted her sorrow.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked. He tried to make out her tear-stained face in the darkness.

"Yes..."

"Don't cry, okay," he said and wiped the tears from her face with his fingers. "Don't beat yourself about it. He's not worth your tears. You deser--"

"Femi," Ijeoma interrupted, "you don't need to say anything. Just... hold me... like you're doing now."

They fell into silence again. She now seemed to press herself into him even more, almost lying ontop of him. His slightly hard erection pulsed gently between them. He tried to move to prevent it from prodding her belly but Ijeoma refused to budge. No matter how much he tried, she held on to him fiercely. He could feel the warmth of her supple body beneath her t-shirt, and that sent another pulse of blood into his treacherous manhood.

A sudden warmth flowed through her and Ijeoma exhaled quietly. The tenseness in her slowly ebbed, and a state of exhilaration washed over her. The throbbing she felt against her belly made her shudder - not from fear, but from something far more dangerous: longing. Her skin tingled, her breath grew shallow. Her temperature increased a notch. Her throat tightened; she swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat as she battled between the warnings her mind was shouting at her and what her body was doing. This was Femi -- her constant anchor, her reliable confidant. The one who'd never asked for anything, who never crossed the line. Tonight, she wasn't sure where that line was anymore.

Her eyes searched for his in the darkness. Staring back into her tear-stained face, Femi could sense the sadness in her. His fingers delicately traced her face and jawline. The need to feel safe, held, and wanted fought with her inner voice of caution. Her body dueled with her mind, and her desire for comfort soon won over her critical reasoning. She decided to listen to what her body was telling her rather than what her mind was saying.

"Thank you... for always being there for me..." she whispered.

"You're we-" Femi started to respond, but she had already reached up and pressed her lips to his.

Femi was caught unawares for a brief moment. Her arms tightened around him. He relaxed and kissed her back, tenderly savoring the softness of her lips. The kiss continued for several long moments, soft moans escaping her. She slid her hand between them and her fingertips brushed against his hardness.

"Aijay... AIJAY!!!... what are you doing?" Femi suddenly jerked. He tried to grip her wrist but she had already slipped her hand in and wrapped her fingers around his member.

"Femi, please," she begged. She had already pulled it out, her hand now gliding up and down the shaft in slow, deliberate strokes, "let me have this... just this one time. I promise I won't ask again."

Her motions were already beginning to overwhelm him, and in a matter of moments his dick had grown to a full state of stiff arousal. "IJ... I...**ahh**... I d-don't think it's a... g-good idea..."

He could see the fresh, painful tears trying to force their way out of her eyes as she stared back at him. Her voice trembled as she spoke. "Femi please... I want to... I really need to... I need you to fuck me Femi... fuck me until I beg you to stop... that's the only way I can get over this pain in my heart."

"I-I can't IJ... you are my friend, a... I can't have sex with you-"

"I don't care... I don't care if you're my friend. I just want you to fuck me. Hard."

He tried to pull her hand away, but she held on like a vise. "Y-you're not thinking straight Aijay... you're too...**fuck**... emotional right now..."

He could only watch helplessly as she straddled him. He felt the intense heat coming from her core against his skin, and it was then he realized she wore nothing underneath.

"I want you to punish me," she continued as she stroked him over her vulva, the squelching sound and sensations sending shivers through her body and making her pant audibly, "I deserve it for being so... senseless," she literally spat the word out, "... for not listening to you and everyone else."

"Wait... condom..." but her lips had already parted, inviting him in. Femi stifled a groan and gripped her hips tightly with both hands; her body willingly and slowly accepted his entire length. They both let out simultaneous gasps.

"Punish me Femi," she gasped as she began to rock back and forth, "punish me so hard I won't be able to think of anything else. Fuck some sense into this stupid brain of mine."

Femi groaned and sank his fingers into the flesh of her plump derriere as he tried to steady her movements. He finally decided to just let her get it over with, let her exhaust her sorrow. He pulled her into him repeatedly, steadying her grinding motions. His hands slipped under her shirt and groped her breasts, his fingertips tweaking the hard nipples they found. That sent a bolt of lightning through her and she covered her mouth to prevent the scream forming in her throat from bursting forth. Her legs started thrashing, her grinding motions getting harder, and it wasn't long before she cried out and clamped her muscles hard.

"Femi, don't kill me... please," she panted. Femi chuckled.

"You asked me to punish you, remember?" He rolled her over onto her back, discarding his boxers without pulling out of her. He bunched her t-shirt around her slim waist and pulled back until he was almost out of her, then slid back in with one powerful thrust. Her throaty moans started up again; she started to hump and grind, trying to match his own exertions as he pounded into her from above. She grabbed the hem of her shirt and tried to pull it off; Femi pinned and trapped her hands over her head, the T-shirt covering her face. Her moans sounded muffled behind the shirt. At the same time, he tried to hold back and keep himself from cumming already, which was becoming more and more difficult a task as time went by. His other hand grabbed her thigh as another wave threatened to overwhelm him. His eyes focused on the sight of her breasts bouncing in every direction from the force of his thrusts. She began to hyperventilate, and he let go of her arms and pulled the shirt off her face. IJ let out a loud gasp as the air finally filled her lungs. Another orgasm began to course through her and her muscles gripped him tightly as they contracted.

"I... I'm going to cum," he said. Beads of sweat dropped from his brow onto her forehead. IJ nodded weakly.

"Cum... cum for me," she exhaled in a whisper he barely heard. His dick quivered and she instinctively tightened her pelvic muscles, making her grip even tighter.

"I don't want to cum inside you," he blurted.

"Cum... here," she replied, dragging her fingers over her belly.

He gave her a few more powerful thrusts and grunted. IJ gasped as thick jets of cum streaked across her belly. Her tummy received most of his semen, an errant spurt landing a streak on one of her breasts and dousing her nipple. She gingerly ran her fingers through the off-whitish concoction on her belly. A deep sigh signaled the end of her gratification. Femi sat back and peered down at her.

"I've never had someone cum so much on me before, not even... him," she whispered drowsily, looking up at Femi, "where have you been my whole life?"

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Femi woke with a start. The morning light bled through the living room curtains. The duvet still covered the lower half of his body, and the space beside him on the bed was empty.

The night before came rushing back in fragments--her tears, her trembling voice, her body curling into his, the weight of her sadness melting into something else. The way she had kissed him. The way he hadn't stopped her.

A hollow feeling twisted in his chest. The sex.

He should have said no. Should have held his ground. She'd been hurting. Vulnerable. And instead of protecting her from herself--and from him--he let it happen. Let himself want her. Let him be taken in by her demands. Guilt gnawed at him as he sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Then he smelled it--eggs, sausages, something toasting. The faint sizzle of oil.

He got up and after putting on a pair of shorts and singlet, walked out the bedroom to the kitchen. Ijeoma stood barefoot in front of the stove, her back to him. She had put on the oversized black T-shirt he'd given her the night before, the hem falling to mid-thigh. He could see the outline of the panties she wore beneath. She must have gotten dressed earlier. He still remembered they had moved to the bedroom after cleaning up and she had fallen asleep naked in his arms afterwards. For a moment, he just stood there, watching her in silence.

"You're finally awake," she said looking over her shoulder. "I thought you were going to sleep the entire morning away."

Femi rubbed his temple. "What time is it?"

"Almost ten," she replied, scooping scrambled eggs onto a plate. "I made you breakfast."

She moved with quiet efficiency, placing two slices of toast beside the eggs and sausages, then repeating the same for a second plate. The smell was warm and comforting, but his chest felt tight.

"Aijay..." he started.

She paused slightly, her back to him.

"About last night--"

"I'm sorry I was such a burden to you," she cut in softly, "each time you have to come rescue me-"

"No," he said, stepping closer. "You weren't. That's not what I meant."

She finally turned to face him, her expression unreadable.

"I shouldn't have..." he hesitated, searching for the right words. "We shouldn't have had... sex."

Aijay looked at him for a long moment--eyes tired, bloodshot from the hangover, her pretty lips pressed together tightly.

"It was my fault," she said solemnly, "I shouldn't have come to you in the state I was. But I didn't know what else to do. I needed to be held, Femi. I needed someone to just... hold me together when I was falling apart."

She paused, her voice trembling just a little. "You're the only one who knows how to do that. The only one who makes me feel safe and wanted in times like this. It just... went further than we planned. Or maybe not planned--expected. I don't even know anymore." Her shoulders slumped slightly. "I'm sorry. Truly."

Femi exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck.

"Where does this leave us now? I mean... last night?" he asked after a few moments of silence.

Aijay looked down at her feet. "I don't know," she confessed, "I was thinking about it while you slept. It just... happened. I was just trying not to fall apart completely."

Femi nodded, jaw tight. "Yeah. And I let it happen. I told myself I was just being there for you, but..."

"I don't want to lose you Femi," she said, her voice trembling a bit, "but I also don't want to keep dragging you into my mess."

"Then try and get your act together! Anthony is toxic to you. You need to break up with him."

"It's not that easy! If I break up with him, then what?"

"You can begin your healing process. He has no right to keep doing this to you."

"I wish it was that easy Femi... honestly I do."

She handed him one of the plates of food and Femi followed her to the living room where they sat on the bare carpet. The silence between them was softer now--not as tense as before. They ate quietly for a while. Aijay glanced at him.

"Do you regret it?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "The sex we had?"

Femi didn't answer immediately. He rubbed his temples and sighed.

"No I don't," he said finally, "but I... we shouldn't have."

She nodded slowly, chewing on her bottom lip. "Would you do it again if the opportunity presented itself?"

"What?"

"I mean... will you have sex with me again if you had the chance?"

"Aijay, you're my friend, and friends are not supposed to have sex with each other."

"You haven't answered my question. Would you have sex with me again if the chance came again?"

He hesitated. "I don't know Ajiay... honestly, I don't know."

"What if I offered myself you?"

"Aijay, that is a question I don't have an answer to. You are a very pretty girl, and dare I say it, very sexy. Any other guy would be happy to-"

"But not you."

"It's not that. I just... it just seems wrong, being how close you and I are."

"So you're saying you would..."

"I didn't say that."

"... then you won't..."

"The circumstances aren't right Aijay."

She nodded silently. Neither of them said anything else for a long time.

But the silence said plenty.

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