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


14. The Delirious

“Tomorrow evening I will be free. I’d like to go out for a date with you. In fact, for these subsequent five nights I would like you to come with me to one special place in town where we can sit together and lighten up and have all the time and leisure in the world to ourselves with nothing to interrupt and bother us. Wouldn’t you like that?”


“I definitely would…but where is this special and magnificent place that you are talking about?”


“Hmmnnn…for now let’s say that is a surprise I will not let out to you so soon. You will find that out once we are there. And I am positive that you will like it. You absolutely will.”


“Let’s hope so.”


Softly and caringly, Alvin kissed me on the lips again, steadily and with due consideration, moving his hand into my hair ardently as he did so and tugging it moreover gently and pleasingly nice. I groaned in silence, magnetized and galvanized to him with such intense and utter contentment. He then backed away, finally pleased and happy with himself, and quietly and warmly, he stroked his hand against my cheek, devotedly and in a very friendly way.


In my room, I found a text from Alex and by coincidence pressed down on ‘Read New SMS.’ My mistake! I didn’t want to hear anything from him. Not a word, not a thing that he had to say. Too late, my eyes sighted that which I would not otherwise have consented toward.


I am sorry. I can explain everything. Can we meet some place and talk about this? Please. I am on my knees.


I was hopping mad and infuriated. I couldn’t let him get away with this. I had to throw the fatal acid back into his face. So he could feel it eating and wolfing its way deep into his skin, gradually and markedly painfully. Yes, I had to make him pay for hurting me so badly and in that slapdash fashion. I typed to him in turn.


No. We must not ever meet. What I saw was as much as was needed confirmation as regards the real you. You are an evil spirit, Alex. A real tyrant.


Ten minutes later he responded back.


We must talk. I can’t explain myself here on the phone. Not by texting either.


I replied him as well.


To hell with your stupid talk. Stop bothering me, will you? I do not ever want to see you again, neither have I anything to do with you, you blatant-faced womanizer.


I blacklisted him instantaneously and played the track ‘Womanizer’ by Britney Spears to make myself feel stress-free and unspeakably mad against him so we would not have to settle things again.


Superstar, where you from, how is it going?
I know you, you got all the puppets with their strings up
Faking like a good one
But I know them
I can see them
I know what you are
What you are, baby


Womanizer, woma…woma…woma
You’re a womanizer
Oh womanizer
Oh, you’re a womanizer, baby
You, you, you are
You, you, you are
Womanizer, womanizer, womanizer, womanizer…


…Boy, don’t try to front
I know just…just what…what you are…are…are
Boy, don’t try to front
I know just…just what…what you are…are…are…


Maybe Taylor Swift’s ‘You Are Not Sorry’ was much suitable for this kind of situation, was not it?


All this time
I was wasting
Hoping you would come around
I have been giving out chances
Every time and all you do
Is turn me down
And it has taken me this long
Baby, but I figured you out
And you think it will be fine again
But not this time around


You don’t have to call anymore
I won’t pick up the phone
This is the last straw
There is nothing left to beg for
And you can say that I am sorry
But I don’t
Believe you, baby
Like I did before
You are not sorry…oh no…


Men…womanizers…cheaters…unforgiving themselves…tyrants and fiends altogether. Not all men were that, I knew. That was what most were…and the other small number…well, who doesn’t have their own flaws and imperfections in this world? We all have our blemishes and points of fault and err, don’t we? Oh yes, we definitely do.


I looked about my room, coolly and in absolute ennui. Sh*t! There Chantal was, poker-faced looking and seeming to wonder what it was that was in particular on my imperceptible and well-veiled mind. Those indications of gladness and untainted bliss and satisfaction had not withdrawn away from her countenance. She noticeably was still very happy about that special thing going on between me and her son. Oh darn, she sure was.




She walked toward me parsimoniously and unreservedly and delightfully. “You don’t know how grateful I am at the moment to you, Sophia.”


“I am simply doing what I should have done a very long time ago.”


“A very long time ago, you say?”


“I mean ever since you made it all plain and clear to me that your son has got real and deep-felt feelings for me. It is what I should have said in the first place, isn’t it?”


“Yeah. I give my word, I will ever be there for you and my son, Alvin. Whenever you feel like you need anything, feel liberated and open to let it out to me, you hear me?”


“I do, Chantal.”


“I will evermore be indebted and appreciative to you, Sophia. Yes, even till that day that I will breathe my very last on this earth. Seeing Alvin in high spirits and gratis makes me joyful and liberated in turn. And seeing him heart-rent and distressed makes me even heartbroken and disturbed too.”


“I will do my very best to make him happy all the times. But I wonder if you know about my true state. That evil side of me. Are you aware of it?”


“The curse holding sway over your life and being, you do mean, right?”


She knew then. Probably. Oh yes, she knew everything.


It did not come as much astonishment to me to realize that Chantal had chock-full enlightenment concerning my curse-correlated secret. Of course, she could painlessly know. After all, Alvin knew and he could unveil and uncover it to her what’s more. I sighed, wheeling and rolling my eyes in bewilderment. I didn’t like the feel or atmosphere of this at all. Not in any slightly way.


“So you know that I happen to be cursed to the extent of killing any man who falls in love with me, right? I mean it was Alvin who made it known to you, right? If it was not him, tell me who did then?”


“I am one of those ill-fated women, Sophia. I am just like you and your mother, Kris, are. Cursed and remediless.”


No. That couldn’t be truthful, could it be? I mean Chantal van Merowe was one of our ill-starred and luckless kind? She could not be. No way. This had to be a blatant lie and nothing else. This was an unquestionable fib and nothing more.


“It cannot be true, Chantal, can it be? Tell me you are not cursed like I am. Declare that to me please.”


“Sorry. That is the wholesome and unbroken truth.”


 “And is your son, Alvin, conscious and cognizant of it?”


“No. He is not aware about it. I withheld it away from him. I mean there is no way I can unveil it to him as much as I cannot tell him that I am also his genuine mother.”


“But don’t you believe that you are doing yourself no any fairness by secreting all these things from his perception and understanding. You must tell him about all this. The sooner, the better.”


“You are wide off the mark, Sophia. My son has gone through so much right now that I cannot cause him any more grievances and sorrows to what he has already suffered this far. I peradventure cannot do that. No way. Please don’t ask me to do that. I beg you please.”


“I won’t if you insist on veiling everything from him.”


“Thank you very much for that.”


“What if I kill your son, Chantal? I am cursed and I am not supposed to be doing all these things. It is all perilous and unsafe, don’t you think?”


“I know about your circumstance more than you are acquainted with it yourself, Sophia. Listen carefully; we are going to do this. We will freeze your curse. Yes, that is the only thing that can be done to set free the life of my beloved son. We have to freeze that damn nuisance. That is what I did myself and for years and years recurrent I lived with the one and only man I truly loved until he died naturally and left me a forlorn and vulnerable widow.”


“Are you really sure about what you are saying, Chantal?” As I spoke, there were gestures of great exhilaration and excitement in my voice. I could not believe it. There was chance for me to live happily and elatedly with that one and only man I honestly loved in the entire world, right? Say Alex…damn him! Thinking about him messed up my atmosphere and made me feel very much mad and furious with myself. There was no more him in my life. Yes, I had laid him to rest in the ground beneath. My past life to be clear-cut. Nothing would bring him back to complete being and commotion in my at hand and impending days and years yet again. Nothing I say.


Chantal smiled contentedly, stroking and caressing my cheek caringly. I had my drawn-out hair raked up flat and straightly over either sides of my face. Yes, there were no threads to sporadically and incessantly fall their way over it and what’s more cover my eyes so as to distract my sight and seeing. There was no any such thing.


“How is this freezing of the curse done?”


“I will tell you about it some time. Right now I feel so worn-out and helpless and I must sleep. It is a very time-consuming and strength-chomping-through story. I will make it known to you at one time or another. Not tonight please. Right now I must get my sleep. Take care please, will you?”


“I definitely will. Sleep well and have pleasant dreams.”


“I value those kind words of yours. Nice dreams to you too, Sophia.”


The freezing of the curse. That was the thought that was on my mind when Kris rang me up, disturbing my contemplation and forthcoming sleep altogether. I had been fearing this moment like mad. I had to face it anyway. There was no other alternative on my part.




“What got into you, Sophia? Why did you behave that weird and awful way that you did?”


“Mom…I am sorry. I am really sorry. I give my word, I will not ever do it again.”


“Where the hell had you been off to? I called you an innumerable times, didn’t you take notice?”


“I didn’t. I was preoccupied and engaged with something else.”


“Tell me, were you planning to commit suicide?”


“No, mom.”


“Sophia, be honest with me please, will you?”


“I didn’t think about it. There was no way I can do that to you and to myself as well.”


“We will talk when I come over there, you hear me?”


“When are you coming?”


“I will come, dear. Bye for now. And please don’t do anything ridiculous all over again, okay?”


“I won’t.”


“That is my girl. Take great care of yourself.”


Anything ridiculous all over again? Maybe I was that impractical after all.


I had a dream. About Alex of course. I was going off to some place with Alvin, ravishing and enrapturing in consummate red when we came across him and he had an extremely angered and hostile look to him. We must have gone to a ball or grand party or something like that. There were massive and sumptuous rooms and several chandeliers and excellently-dressed people and ablaze candles and quiet and dawdling-like music and lots and plenty of mouth-watering food and sweet wine. Then, as I was dancing with him—Alvin—swaying bit by bit quietly, Alex came into view from the overjoyed swarm with an eye-mask gripped steadfastly in his hand. Without warning and rapidly, he took out a pistol from his jacket and leveled it at…Alvin.


My God!


Too late, I screamed out. The gunshots had already boomed and rumbled and crackled up boisterously in the jumbo-sized room, making the multitude screech apprehensively and flee away madly and uncontrollably. I looked about them. The killer was nowhere to be seen. Instead, there were several men, all wearing the same type and design of mask that Alex had been carrying unfalteringly in his hand. He could be this man or that one or that other one instead. He could be anyone escaping and running away apprehensively.


Alvin. He was bleeding to his death, bit by bit but definitely. He gave way against me and I let him fall down to the floor to only find out that plenty of terrorizing blood from him had tarnished and tainted me wholly crimson. My goodness! Alvin was dying. And I could not do anything to assist or help him out.










I am thrilled and frightened at the same time. Yes, this is totally something to be happy and cheerful about. I am pregnant. With his child of course. Alex I do mean. Very soon—much more soon than I am looking forward to—I will give birth to that beautiful girl that I have ever wanted to have in my entire life. Oh yes, I definitely will. I sigh, rolling my eyes in enthusiasm and yet it is with horror and insecurity that I think about this silently and without a sound. How will I break the news to him? How exactly?


Alex doesn’t want a girl. He had always told me that. Girls are too yielding and feminine to become companions and sincere most buddies to their poppas. He wants a boy for a first child. A string of them in all his life if probable.


I know. I didn’t wait that long enough to venture into any such kind of sweetly misdeed with him. But I don’t regret it. I just wanted to be a woman. To truly be one and feel like one in every inch and vicinity of my life. Now I am a complete woman. Two months heavy with child and loved and cherished by my darling man. Days are great and pleasurable for the two of us as much as they are bitter and unfriendly.


I want to give birth to a girl. One I can share my filth most and grimy secrets with. Like hey, Elisa, do you know what your father and I argued about last night? He won’t let me buy this new brand of underwear. He says it is too tempting and sexy that it would surely drive him to do insane things in broad daylight if I put it on, even in the eyes of all our neighbors. ***Chuckles***. I want another girl, someone I can hang out with and have fun and great hilarity and glee in her valued presence. I want a girl, someone I can tolerate to have an eye on my hush-hush journal and diary without even worrying about what her opinion and view will be because I will be positive that she is a real and genuine woman like me, who can relate flawlessly well with my worldly sorrows and joys and triumphs and calamities. I want a girl, someone I can teach the dos and don’ts of the boy-fishing sport, all with accordance to the types of experiences I have learned thus far. I want a girl, someone to plait and do up my hair and also tug it gently but playfully. I want a girl, someone who can give me her sincere opinion before I venture on buying any latest type of dress.


Weeks later…


Alex knows that I have family in the way. We both are having a baby to be precise. He is so happy he organizes a grand and classy gathering just to celebrate his graduation interlude from naive and sparkling youthfulness into blatant and absolute fatherhood. He swears to me he will not ever have another affair besides ours and that I will be what he will truthfully and lawfully and entirely pay all the deserving and commendable attention to. This is not my first time knowing men and their ageless lifestyles and deeds. Men are men and you cannot change it, wish for it or not.


These nights I do not sleep at all. I am weighed down and disturbed with unpleasant and hellish-seeming nightmares. In my dreams, I am ever expectant (pregnant that is) and surrounded with hosts and masses of children, all of them so juvenile and blameless-looking and they dance and skip and amuse themselves about me cheerfully and without restraint. I don’t know, neither can I be acquainted with anyone of them. They are just children though with strange and horrifying activities.


“Bring your child out so that we can eat him. Bring him out, Sophia. We are starved and hungry and we will not rest until our tongues thrash on his blood and our lips gnaw into his flesh and avariciously chop it up and our throats have in addition to that gulped it down. What are you waiting for? Give birth to that little bastard so we can eat him.”


It is out of the ordinary but this is the dream that comes to me repetitively every Thursday night. All the same and ever unchanging. Is it common to undergo such? Or am I under some form of grievous witchery spell?


Drums reverberate and resound. Feet stomp and tread heavily on the ground. Hands strike and thrash against each other. Ululations and wailings boom and fill the air. Lips twirl and wind into iniquitous smiles, laying to view vicious teeth that appear to be tarnished with absolute blood. Heads cock down methodically as if to contemptuously and mischievously peer at something. Chuckles and giggles persist and carry on. The wails and pleased screams and shouts become more louder and fiercer with each slipping away moment.


“Give us your son to eat! Give us your son to eat! Give us your son to eat!”


I scream and moan and squeal and tremble and shudder. Loudly and aggressively and incessantly. Alex glances at me, shocked and petrified. I have never seen him be this frightened and alarmed. “Are you okay, Sophia?”


“Yes, I am, Alex. It was nothing more than a terrifying and fictitious nightmare. That’s all.”


He believes me every time I say that. Sometimes I do not cry for fright and panic of him getting suspicious and somewhat fidgety. He can’t find out what is precisely going on. I don’t even know it myself. What unerringly is happening to me?


It all used to be in a night-solely trance. But now it is part and piece and component of my realism itself. And what is realism, you cannot escape or keep away from no matter how atrocious and grisly it is. Reality is inescapable.


I blench and yelp out and shriek as vociferously as I can. Like always, Alex comes rushing to me, alarmed and scared-stiff. “Are you okay, Sophia?”


“Yes, Alex. It was nothing more than a damn rat this time that scared the shit and hell out of me.”


I am afraid. I cannot give birth. I cannot set my foot into the labor ward. Once I make my first step in there, they tell me that I will not walk out of it with my child grasped and embraced lovingly in my arms. No, I will surely not, they avow to me.






Till the next episode…











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