The Bride Who Murdered Her Groom: A Stories Collection

Beautiful and sharp-witted, Sophia Solochi—blamelessly eighteen—understands that she must not ever fall in love. If she does, any peculiar man she has adored will not live what will befall him. In unquestionable words, he will die. Fast. Surely. And frightfully. Why would he perish, you may marvel? Sophia, also true with her female descent, is cursed. Any lad whom she falls for is destined to yield up his ghost in her very own arms and care. When she moves with her mother to Brownton to begin a fresh and unimpaired life, far away from their ancient calamities and sorrows, the worst things imaginable happen to them. Sophia cannot resist falling in love with Alex Ramirez, a strikingly handsome but in-a-short-time to-be Engineering postgraduate at Brownton University. Here, whilst pursuing a Fashion and Designing degree, she furtively repeats the self-same pursuit and engagement that effected insufferable agony and bitterness in her bygone days. Falling in love is extremely perilous, she


15. Nightmare



“Bonny (now ‘beautiful’ in up-to-date language) we are…yet we are curst…terribly blasted with an evil curse…if only those men whom we fall in love with know what we are and what bane we bring into their lives…they would without linger and any second thought flee away from us. They sure would. For loving us brings them nothing but death. Yes. That is what they procure in the very end.” Sophia Solochi may seem as if she has found glee at long last, with the man who is not of her dreams. Alvin Morgan he is. Youthful, a smart and startlingly exceptional multi-billionaire who could take off his way to glimpse the moon in person whenever he feels like doing it; but more notably and outstandingly, he is very good-looking and eye-catching as an archangel. This is Sophia’s top most secret. The petroleum of her infatuation toward him. Deep down her heart, she knows that he is the wide-off-the-mark man…the man she never craved to have in life…the man she would never consent to wed and tie the knot with. But it is all meaningless now especially with her sweetheart, Alex, vanished out of her life forever—it appears. As the clock clicks and clacks, as the wedding bells peal and toll nearer and nearer, she becomes conscious that she must make her resolution fast enough before time lapses out on her. Will she get hitched to the man of her terrorizing nightmares?—which she unearths of Alvin’s bona fide and beforehand secreted traits and persona just before she mouths out at full volume and smugly, “I do.” Or will she escape back to that one and only man that she has ever truthfully and heart and soul combined loved? The stakes soar high way farthest above the ground; the perils are intimidating and ominous. If she consigns any slight slip-up, any minor postponement, any vague indecision, her happiness and bliss is straight away and without delay blown apart…for good.    





There was too much blood on my hands and worse more in my palms. I tried to chafe it all away. I did my very best in fact. Still, it made no any minor dissimilarity. My en-ravishing dress ended up this disgustingly stained and flawed up. My God. What else had I to do? What else? Alvin Morgan—the man I at the moment wanted to love so very much, was lying down right there before my very own eyes and shocked face, bleeding a great deal and convulsing and grunting in insufferable pain vociferously. And yet I could not do anything at all. Could I?


“Alvin,” I bawled out as noisily and deafeningly as I could. “Alvin, no, you cannot die. No, you cannot.”


Offhandedly. At an incredibly fast pace; and apprehensively. I flipped my eyes wide open and stared about me awkwardly and in fatigue, never-ending and nonstop sweat trickling and running down my throat and chest. Not that it was exceptionally hot. It wasn’t. It was piercingly icy both out there and inside here. Tell me, how was I presumed to react and behave to that nightmare of mine if not by shrieking and howling and bellowing out. Yes, I did shriek and yelp. Raucously to be truthful.


“Alvin,” I murmured quietly and coolly.


He was there, sitted on my bed right before my eyes in this extensive and finicky white shirt and sable-colored brief shorts. Yes. Like at all times, his ash blond hair was warped and twirled and interweaved. He all the time was fond of it being that way. He all the time did.


“Sophia, are you okay?” As he uttered this, he laid a compassionate and tender hand on my shoulder. I quivered right away. Not because of the biting cold itself. The feel of his freezing hand on my naked skin ignited these sensations of ache and dull pain inside me. They unquestionably did. My God. Why was this going on after all? Why?


“Alvin, how did you get yourself here? I was supposing you to be in your room, lying down quietly in calmly rest. How long have you been here, gazing and staring at me?”


He made a mean face promptly. “I couldn’t sleep, Sophia. So I made up my mind to come over here and stare at you falling asleep. I just turn out to like it. And please, telling from that sound-the-alarm look on your face, don’t carry on with your arrangements of stoning me to death. Please. I am not here to carry out anything contemptible…or cataclysmic. No, I ain’t.”


“You ain’t?”


“Look, I am going to bear my ass out of here if you feel like you don’t need me sticking around here. That is preferable than you giving me that grisly and awful look. It is not like you caught me red-handed in the middle of…base, contemptible deeds, or did you?” As he said this, he stood up to march away and I without delay made an objection to that.


“Alvin, don’t go away please.”


“You said you don’t want me here.”


“That is not what I said.”


“That is what your words and facial appearance were implying then, right?”


“Come on. Stop being this obstinate and as a substitute be composed and gracious, will you, please?”


“Whatever.” He settled down a second time on my bed, making me feel pleased and cheerful about everything that was taking place. I didn’t want to be on my own so as to fall a victim once anew to another awful and horrifying nightmare. Not at all. With a physically powerful and big and strong man like Alvin here, I could be freed away of anything devilish and hell-founded. Say hideous and torturous nightmares. Absolutely. Aren’t you of the same mind?


Whichever. Alvin embraced me with awareness and affectionately. Yes. Just like Alex was doting of grasping me. Damn it, Sophia! Never, ever bring up that smutty, vile name again in your life, you hear? I nodded to myself, inaudibly and unperturbedly, and that had Alvin wonder and lift up an impulsive eyebrow at me. I looked back into his eyes, lovingly and benevolently, smiling even. He brushed and nibbled with the tip of his fingers on my cheeks frivolously. Without due consideration even. I loved it. It was thrilling and electrifying on my part and standpoint. Yes, just electricity when it has beat you all of a sudden and without prior warning.


“You are looking like a rose flower tonight, have I acknowledged it to you, Sophia?”


“You haven’t. But don’t you get tired telling women the alike not-getting-any-younger, physically abused, and repetitive flattering remark. Try out something novel like even though the night is without the moon and is intolerably ugly, Sophia, you are polished and shining, sparkling, oh yes, glittering and gleaming intensely in this darkness before my very own astound and bedazzled eyes.”


That had him smirk blissfully and gaily at me. His eyes did not ogle away from mine. We both made sheep’s eyes at each other, intensely and keenly. My, my. Were we both genuinely and justly falling in love? There was no doubt about it on his part. And on my part, well…it wasn’t yet all that apparent and observable, or was it in your view?


True. The moon was no longer up there in the sky. Wait a minute. Had we been privileged with a half-chopped or bursting full or sheer quarter or blatant fragment of a moon tonight? I had absolutely forgotten. Damn me and my memory! It was like I was 82 so soon and crumple-skinned and stark wool white haired. Crap. What inane thoughts of mine?


I frowned. To myself that was. At times I could be this brainless and ludicrous, couldn’t I? Yeah…seemingly so. Crazy Sophia. Professor of psychosis. Madame Out-of-Her-Sanity. First lady of the nutty ones. Whatever label that you can think of calling me consider it inclusive please. Who-oo-ow! I heaved a sigh calmly, turning round and twirling my eyes jadedly.


“You know better than me how to be a sugary verbose man, don’t you, Sophia?”


“I don’t. I know perfectly well how to be a sweet wordy woman, mind you.”


“You do. You just said something remarkable and wonderful that I can only envy you for in total silence.”


“Whatsoever, Alvin.”


“I want you to pledge me one thing.”




“If it ever happens that we become apart and away from each other, I want you to still be my friend, one who can advice me with regard to cutely, lovable things that I can say to ladies, just so to melt and soften their hearts.”


“It is a deal done.”


“Deal done?”


“Yes, it is a deal through, Alvin.”


“I thought you were going to refute that we will ever be apart and on bad terms.”


“I wanted to hear you say that first before telling you all that. Of course, it was what I was on having in my mind. Duh!”




“I have to sleep now, if you don’t mind. And please, move not an inch away out of this bed, do you hear me? If I should squeal and yelp out, I want to wake up in your arms, clutched snugly and affectionately. Are you paying attention to me, you magnate?”


He wasn’t. He was staring at me blankly and unemotionally, like I had snubbed and offended him and he wanted so much to punch me up for it and yet he could not get himself to achieve it. Or could he? Whatever the case was, I was just being teasing and joking with hm. If he took what I said critically, I swear, it was his own problem and never mine. Right on his chest I laid down my head and fell intensely and silently into sleep. There were no more nightmares to terrify and scare the burning hell out of me and torture and set me ablaze me what’s more. Not any. I guess that at they all quailed back whenever they approached me only to see a striking and exigent-looking ash blond haired man seize me tightly and yet lovingly in his unbendable arms. Maybe. Huh—via a malleable, moderate, and quiet giggle—huh, huh! Huh, huh!


When I awakened in the morning, there was no longer any gorgeous, steel-built man to guard and look after me. It didn’t shock the critter out of me. Today was…Monday, 23 April 2018. Yeah. Days after I had first moved in with Alvin and Chantal and their group here. This was also the second time I was having two poles-apart nightmares, all having points in time where Alex, from severe bitterness and envy and wrath, ends up killing Alvin for having me. Alvin was a pretty full-of-activity man, I found out. Pretty damn ditty full of hectic and goings-on. Day in, day out; clock in, clock out; dawn in, dawn out; there were all the time phone calls to answer, meetings to be prearranged and rescheduled, infinite emails to wade through and decide warily on how they should be responded to, monetary-interrelated computations and inquiry of numerous fiscal piece of statements, places to visit individually just for refreshment or for societal bustle when kindheartedly given a request or invitation to do so. There were many more things to this than all these. It all made me speculate whether Alvin had any speck of time to settle down and enjoy his cumbersome accumulation of possessions or whether he was just a mere slave to affluence and influence seeking. Which was which?  


Loaded men and their dilemma of mounting up material goods, not even sitting down to enjop them to the complete and fullest. It was all sneaking humorous for sure. Because you know why? If they take it cool way too far and settle to lie and laze around in leniency, they might possibly wake up a little bit late to take in that they riches are almost finishing and they are almost totally left with nothing at all. Yeah, it does surely happen. The unfortunate on the other hand have no any such frets and strains but rather how to fix their footing in the lake of the well-to-do in a world where living without currency and cash means breathing without the right of entry to the comfort and reliefs of civilization.  


I did some online delving on Alvin Morgan. He was everywhere on the internet imaginable. But then not every running site and digital locale. He was on Wikipedia—the Free Encyclopedia. He was on Facebook, Twitter, Instogram, Tumblr, Wordpress. He even had his own individual website.


Hmmnnn. Quite a superstar icon in his own right, wasn’t he? Of course, he was this one big and well-known VIP.


I wondered in silence. What could be the net worth of this South-African born but Zambian bred Alvin Morgan. Not that he grew up in my country solely. He also regularly tripped to stay in Niger and then Egypt and Mauritius and Kenya and Morocco. Outside of Africa, he kept on in France by and large and Germany and Russia and Australia and even China. What of the Unites States? The world’s most powerful and wealthiest nation? He only toured there for trade and laid-back sprees and outings and nothing more. A globe vacationer he was by all accessible means. The title of which outfitted him perfectly and brilliantly well.


What about I myself? The only out-of-Zambia state I had ever been to in all my life was our bordering and next-door Zimbabwe. And only to glimpse the other side of Victoria Falls from that other face. Yeah. I was no contest with Alvin when it came to trekking the orb or just about any on-hand place. All partly because mine and Kris’ family circle was not this strongly affluent to prop up and tolerate all that. No. it wasn’t. We were well-off indeed. But then not that much exceptionally. In contrast to the Morgans, we were nothing but terribly miniature and helpless. We sure were.


$17 billion. I almost fainted at learning that. Huh? That was what Alvin Morgan was worth? Seventeen billion United States dollars? Yes that. By this, I do not denote the Mugabe of Zimbabwe inflating dollar or that olden Germany blowing-up currency shortly after the Second World War took place. Nay. My! Alvin was the fifth most wealthiest man in Africa after the foremost and leading two from Nigeria and the other two from Egypt and Lesotho. Meaning he was South Africa’s…most well-to-do man, right?


I couldn’t think. Or move without restraint. I only flickered my eyes open and shut pretty fast in just the ideal chorus. How the hell had I found myself in the same house under the very same roof with this peculiar kind of a man? His class was the most odd and outstanding. Whenever you made it out, money would sparkle and gleam irresistibly in your eyes. Seventeen billion dollars filthy rich. $17-billion-stinking-loaded! Goodness, it couldn’t be true. Could it? 


What about Adelaide, his sister?


Crap. The news almost throttled and choked me to instantaneous death. It almost did. Sincerely speaking. She—was—worth—$—13—billion! Imagine. A woman so babyish and single that age! Huh. If Adelaide ran an advertisement in the newspapers the world over making it basic and plain that she was looking for a very high-quality and dependable and blameless man to walk down the aisle with, how many perverts and distorts in our societies themselves would reform and repent at the statement, all fiercely and heartlessly engaged in a bidding war just to bite and get a taste of her enormous and weighty pies of wealth? How many would do just that? In my analysis, almost any man, I feel. Yes, even the devotedly and virtuously married ones. Priests, reverends, pastors, even the most saintly-seeming ones. Don’t you agree so?


With unadorned and luminous blond hair, a petite egg-shaped face and filled and well-rounded cheeks, and a slender and svelte built body like she was an athlete or something like that, Adelaide was this verily eye-catching and striking, just like her brother, Morgan, was. Damn. This lady…so young…so rich…so restless and unsleeping she must be, I presupposed. What a life it was to be Africa’s most money-wise linked invincible and flourishing woman at that childlike age. I envied her. I wanted to be her even. Damn me and my envy and resentment all in all! A barefaced loser I was!


Adelaide owned a clothes-designing corporation. Which was a very good thing indeed. Why hadn’t Alvin notified me about it seeing that I was in the line and curiosity of clothes design? Or were they not at favorable terms with each other? Whatever the whole story was, I had confidence that Adelaide and I myself would convene one day and share and moreover converse about our keenness and infatuation with regards to clothes making. Yeah. I wished that that would see the light of the day one near-term day. Would it? Perhaps. Perhaps not.


The cologne in the kitchen was so appealing it drove me to on-the-spot starvation like I had not eaten anything last night. Very early this morning even more. I had gobbled a bowl of cornflakes, but still, it was not adequate and satisfactory enough to safeguard me from the enticement to uncover out what Chantal was preparing in there. I did not resist taking a sneak slink peek at her cooking and humming to herself softly.


“Chantal. Good morning.”


She overheard me; and spun after me right away. Speedily and circumspectly. Then she breathed out, calming suddenly from her impulsive and overpowering fright.


“Sophia, it is you?”


“Yeah, it is me.”


“My goodness. You frightened me like shit.”


“I didn’t mean to; I am sorry in any case.”


She scoffed acrimoniously at that. “You shouldn’t be. It is okay at any rate. How did you sleep last night? With my son that is.”


Sh*t! Had she just said that? How had she known that I slept with him? Of course. We did nothing apart from touching and stroking and embracing. That was all. Still, how had she found out all about this? Maybe there were secretive and concealed cameras in this house? Maybe he had in person and flesh made it known to her? Which was which here?
















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