The Beginning of the End.
Annabelle lay trembling beneath Maxwell's suffocating weight, the silk sheets tangled around her body like chains. Her chest heaved, and each breath felt like a desperate gasp for air. The dim light of the hotel room cast long shadows, and the faint hum of the city outside seemed like a cruel mockery of her torment.
"You're nothing but a good-for-nothing woman," Maxwell spat, his voice sharp and cold. His eyes bore into hers, devoid of any trace of humanity. "You can't even do this one thing right."
"Maxwell... please," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. Her voice cracked, a broken plea for mercy. "I can't feel my legs... I need help."
"Help?" He scoffed, sitting up and adjusting his shirt with deliberate slowness, as if savoring her misery. "You couldn't even hold on long enough to satisfy me, and now you want my help? Pathetic."
Annabelle reached out, her fingers trembling as they tried to grasp his arm, but he pulled away, sneering down at her. The room was cold, yet her body burned with a mix of humiliation and anguish.
"Please, Maxwell," she begged, her voice rising as desperation clawed at her throat. "I'm not okay... I need to stand. I—"
"Stand?" he interrupted, cutting her off with a bitter laugh. "You can't even stand up to life, Annabelle. How could I ever expect you to stand up for anything else?"
The venom in his words stung deeper than the physical pain coursing through her. He leaned down one last time, his face inches from hers. His lips curled into a sinister smirk.
"Maybe next time, try being worth something."
With that, Maxwell straightened, brushing his hands off as though she were nothing more than dirt. He turned his back to her, buttoned his shirt, and strode toward the door without a second glance.
"Maxwell, don't leave me like this," she cried out, her voice breaking. But the door clicked shut, leaving her alone in the sterile silence of the room.
Annabelle lay there, her tears soaking into the pillow, her body aching and her mind spinning. Every fiber of her being felt broken, but somewhere deep within the wreckage, a flicker of something began to stir. Anger.
This wasn't love. This wasn't passion. This was cruelty.
Now lying on the bed bed, her body numb and her soul aching, Annabelle stared at the ceiling and let out a shuddering breath. The tears came slowly at first, then all at once, pooling on the pillow beneath her.
"How did it come to this?" she whispered again, her voice breaking.
The answer was obvious now. She had ignored the signs, given too much, and lost herself in the process.
How did we arrive here? How did I miss these
signs?
I know these questions can't be escaped, which is
the reason why I do not have the braveness to share
this horror with anyone close to me. Not friends, not family.
Start sobbing
Maxwell was not always like this I would have
sworn that Maxwell is incapable of doing evil.
Wipes tears
He was so innocent and sweet when we were both friends, funny enough, he still is.
Max was every lady's ideal man back then in
university, he never smoked nor drank alcohol and
he was not into women.
He was perfect until the devil called him.
Flashback to university days.
It was a bright, sunny Thursday on the bustling campus of the University of Lagos. The physics lecture had just ended, and Annabelle was rushing out of the lecture hall, eager to meet her friends at the nearby eatery. Her mind was on jollof rice and fried plantains when a voice called out from behind her.
"Excuse me, miss! Excuse me, please!"
She turned, mildly irritated, to see a young man jogging toward her. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and impossibly handsome. His chiseled features were framed by a perfect fade, and his skin glowed like polished bronze under the sun.
Annabelle froze, momentarily struck by his appearance. Is this real? she thought. How did God spend so much time on one person?
As he approached, his face lit up with a satisfied smile, as if he'd been searching for her and finally found his prize.
"How may I help you?" she asked curtly, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Her tone was sharp, but inwardly, her heart was racing.
The young man didn't falter. His smile remained steady, and his deep brown eyes locked onto hers with a disarming warmth.
"My name is Maxwell Jonah Abeo," he began confidently. "I'm a third-year student in the Faculty of Clinical Medicine, specializing in Obstetrics and Gynecology. May I know your name?"
Annabelle hesitated, trying to mask her surprise. His voice was smooth, and his manners impeccable. She looked away, struggling to regain her composure.
"Miss?" he prompted gently. "May I know your name, please?"
"Annabelle Mmasinachi Eze," she replied reluctantly, her gaze fixed on the horizon.
"Annabelle," he said, savoring her name. "That's beautiful. May I call you MMA?"
Before she could respond, she cut him off with a sharp question. "How may I be of help to you, Maxwell?"
He chuckled lightly, unfazed by her cold demeanor. "Straight to the point—I like that. I was wondering if I could have a few moments of your time. I promise it won't take long."
"Make it quick," she said, folding her arms.
Maxwell smiled, his charm undeterred. "I've noticed you in class, MMA. You're one of the brightest students I've seen, and I could really use your help."
Annabelle arched an eyebrow. "Help with what, exactly?"
"Chemistry," he replied, his tone serious. "I've been struggling with it, and I was hoping you could tutor me."
Her eyes narrowed as suspicion bubbled in her mind. Why me? she wondered. There are plenty of brilliant girls on campus. Why single me out?
Maxwell seemed to read her thoughts. "I chose you because I trust you'll actually help me succeed," he said earnestly. "Please, MMA. Don't turn me down."
Annabelle sighed, weighing his words. He was handsome, polite, and clearly determined. But something about his request felt... complicated.
"Fine," she said at last, trying to sound nonchalant. "Let's see how it goes."
"Thank you," Maxwell said, his smile widening. "I promise, you won't regret this."
Annabelle turned to leave, her heart inexplicably fluttering.
"Bye, Maxwell," she said, waving dismissively.
"Goodbye, MMA," he called after her, his voice lingering in the air.
As she walked away, a strange feeling settled in her chest. She had no idea that this encounter would mark the beginning of her undoing.