TREAT ME RIGHT

James sat on the edge of his bed, the soft glow of his phone painting his face in shades of blue and gray. Outside, the evening breeze nudged the curtains, stirring them in lazy, uneven rhythms. Inside, though, nothing moved. His chest felt heavy, a leaden weight pressing him into the mattress, even as his fingers hovered over the phone, trembling slightly.

ROSE: James... you should be sorry.

The word sliced through him sharper than he expected. He let out a bitter laugh, slow and hollow, shaking his head as if that motion alone could shake the message away. Sorry-for what exactly? For trusting her? For loving her enough to believe she wouldn't hurt him? Or for discovering she had cheated... with Collins. Collins-his friend, someone he had laughed with, confided in, shared moments he thought were safe.

And yet, Rose's words made it seem as though he had destroyed everything. As if the betrayal was his fault.

His thumb hovered over the keyboard, uncertain whether to respond or hurl the phone across the room in frustration. The glow buzzed insistently, and then another message came.

ROSE: We can fix this... if you stop acting like you're the victim.

The invisible squeeze around his heart tightened, and James leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling, blinking rapidly as the weight of every emotion pressed down. He loved her. He hated it, even as he acknowledged it. Even after everything, love still clung to him, stubborn and persistent like a shadow he couldn't shake. He wondered when love had become synonymous with pain.

Yesterday played again in his mind, vivid and relentless.

Ben had shown up unannounced, loud and boisterous, dragging him out of the house with jokes about turning into furniture if he stayed inside one more day. "Guy, you'll rot here if you don't get some air," he'd said, half-laughing, half-serious. And so, reluctantly, James had followed.

The mall had been chaotic-music spilling from hidden speakers, laughter and chatter bouncing off polished floors, the smell of fried food, sugar, and spice filling every corner. James had felt out of place, tense, like a shadow moving through a world too bright and loud. And then he saw her.

Benita.

She hadn't made a dramatic entrance. No impossible show of confidence, no deliberate display meant to catch attention. Just her-warm eyes, a soft smile, and laughter that sounded real. It wasn't forced. It wasn't performative. It was her, and somehow that had been enough to make the air around him feel lighter. She had teased him gently about his shoes, and when he'd laughed, it had been a sound he hadn't realized he'd missed: effortless, unguarded, true.

For the first time in months, James hadn't felt like he had to prove anything. He hadn't had to pretend.

Her presence lingered in his mind now as he sat in the dim room, alone with the glow of the screen.

A knock at the door pulled him from the spiral of memory. Ben walked in without asking, plantain chips in hand, crunching loudly as he leaned against the frame.

"She texted again?" Ben asked, voice casual, crumbs threatening the bed.

James lifted the phone slightly, wordless.

Ben rolled his eyes dramatically. "Guy, abeg, block that girl. You're free now. You and Benita... you're starting something sweet. Stop letting Rose hold you hostage."

James exhaled slowly. "I already broke up with her."

Ben froze mid-chew, eyes widening. "For real?"

James nodded, firmer this time. He remembered clearly the night alone in the dark, fingers trembling as he typed words he'd thought he'd never have the courage to send.

JAMES: Rose, it's over. You broke us. I'm moving on.

He had stared at the screen for what felt like hours before pressing send, throat tight, heart hammering. Every muscle had resisted, screaming that it was too late, that it hurt too much. And yet, he had done it.

Ben grinned, flopping onto the bed beside him. "Exactly! You did the right thing. Benita's peaceful, man. She likes you. And she's not out here kissing your friends."

A small, tired chuckle escaped James. "True."

But the laughter faded quickly, leaving a quiet ache in its place. The kind that settled deep into your chest and refused to be ignored.

Ben's expression softened, the teasing slipping away. "You still love Rose, don't you?"

James didn't answer immediately. His gaze dropped to his hands, noting the faint scars and calluses he hadn't seen before. "Yeah," he admitted softly. "I wish I didn't... but I do."

Speaking it aloud made it heavier-and somehow lighter, too.

Ben didn't judge. He didn't pry. He just nodded slowly. "Healing no be overnight thing. You can like Benita and still be hurting. That one no be crime. What matters is that you didn't stay where you weren't respected."

James swallowed hard, letting the words settle. He thought of Benita's smile again-the way her eyes lit up when he spoke, the quiet attention she paid, the way she made him feel calm without even trying. Being around her felt like air he had been denied for too long.

Moving forward with her felt natural.

Letting go of Rose, though... that felt like pulling teeth from his own heart, unraveling threads he'd woven for years.

His thumb hovered over the phone again. Rose's name glowed at him, stubborn and familiar. He remembered the nights spent in whispered promises, the laughter shared across long calls, the warmth of a hand held like it could fix everything. The ache of memory threatened to pull him under.

But this time, James acted.

He tapped.

Blocked.

The screen went dark, silent, and finally still. James stared at it, chest tight, heart pounding. He set the phone down gently on the bed, as if careful treatment might prevent it from breaking something inside him.

"Starting fresh," he whispered, almost a prayer.

Ben smiled, leaning back. "Starting better."

James let the silence settle around him, heavy but not suffocating. He wasn't healed-not yet. Cracks remained, questions lingered, and a dull pain still pulsed in the quiet corners of his heart. But for the first time in a long while, the future didn't feel like a dead end.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, letting himself imagine mornings that weren't haunted by betrayal. Walks that weren't punctuated by longing for someone who had already left. Conversations that were real, honest, and shared with someone who mattered.

Maybe letting go wasn't easy.

Maybe it never would be.

But maybe, just maybe, it was worth it.

Outside, the breeze whispered through the night, tugging at the curtains. And for the first time in months, James felt a flicker of possibility-a quiet, stubborn spark that refused to be snuffed out.

He wasn't just surviving anymore. He was beginning.

The night stretched on, long and unyielding, but James felt something shift inside him. Something fragile, something untested. Something bright.

And he was ready to see where it would lead.