Page 75 of The Protection Agreement

“No.”

“Did you tell Ice not to take me back to Chicago?”

“No.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him not to hurry with his task and give me some time to talk to you.” He says, I hear the sadness in his voice

“So, he’s going to return and take me back.”

“Yes.”

He sighs. He looks like it pains him to admit it. He’s clearly unhappy about my decision.

I sit up and he quietly sits next to me. I take his hand and squeeze it. He exhales and squeezes my hand back. “Let’s go to the pond,” I say.

He gets up and we walk down in silence. Mr. Powell is not in sight. Shoes on, we head out.

“You’ve always asked how my mom died, but I never told you. I’ll tell you, maybe you’ll understand why I’m upset.” He nods.

“My parents had a system of communicating that I didn’t understand, but it worked for them. My mom’s sister was getting married in the northern part of Nigeria, Abuja to be precise. It was a big and lovely wedding. We had all flown in for the event. After the ceremony, Dad had chartered a flight to take us all back to Lagos, where we would stay for a day before joining him in Spain.” I sigh.

“Everyone in my mom’s family, the newlyweds, got on this hour and fifteen-minute flight to Lagos. I was asleep when things started going wrong. Mom put the oxygen mask on me, tightened my seatbelt, and somehow managed to strap me in again with her seatbelt and something. She wasn’t strapped. She used her body as a shield on me within minutes of the chaos happening. I remember my mom shouting, ‘I love you Jola, stay alive,’ before everything went black.” I’m trembling as I speak. Bruce wants to hold me, but I move away from him.

“When I opened my eyes, I was in pain. I couldn’t move my legs. My mom was dead weight on top of me. Plus, she had strapped me in. I couldn’t move my arms. There was blood everywhere. My cousins, aunties, uncles, grandparents were all dead. My auntie’s new husband was next to me with blood flowing from his head. I started screaming. As I once mentioned, the sight of blood freaks me out. There I was, stuck with multiple dead bodies and blood everywhere. I shouted so loud. That’s when someone heard me. Pulling my mom off me became the next challenge. A metal had lunged between her body and my thigh, making it difficult to separate us without losing me. As the rescuers worked, I passed out. When I opened my eyes again, I was in the hospital, and it was confirmed that I was the only survivor of the crash.” I wrap my arm around myself. He’s quiet as the wind blows. We keep walking in silence. I know he wants to hold me but, right now, I prefer holding me.

“While I was knocked out, some guy had tried to kidnap me, saying he was my father. But a nurse had found a picture in my pocket of me and my parents. She had informed the doctors that the man was lying, and it became clear that I needed to be protected.” I sigh, refusing to cry.

“At this point, Dad was already in Lagos. He had not heard from Mom like he should, so he was worried and flew to Lagos. When he landed in Lagos, he heard about the crash. He was trying to get to me and had to basically fight his way through because a few people had tried to claim me, so they refused to let anyone see or take me until I was awake and could identify someone I know. I was knocked out for like three days, and not very lucid for another day, so he had to wait.” I turn to Bruce and he just stares at me without a word, so I continue.

“The hospital would sit me in an office where I could look at the person trying to claim me and they would ask if I knew the person. Eventually, I saw my dad in the office and started screaming, Daddy.’ That’s when they released me to him.” I stop speaking. I never talk about my nightmare. It took the therapist a while to get me to talk. “Do you want me to continue?” I ask.

“Only if you are okay doing so,” he says quietly.

“I’m okay,” I say, but my hands are shaking so badly. He pulls me close and holds my hands to steady them. I look at him and I see his empathy.

“Dad and I returned to California once I could travel, but once I was off the pain meds, the nightmare began. I would scream in my sleep. Dad took me to therapy. It worked for a while and I started school, then the bullying began. They called me weird because I didn’t talk or try to make friends with anyone. I ignored them because I knew I wasn’t okay; I was just functioning. My mom and her entire family were dead, and I was feeling guilty for being the only survivor. I was living in my own misery.

One of the girls then decided to poke me by cutting my hair. I don’t know what got into me. I punched her and basically unleashed my anger on her, which meant we had to go to the principal’s office. I was expecting Dad to show up and possibly be upset that I got into a fight, but Jonah showed up. I didn’t know what to say, but he sat next to me and said,

“Hi Sis, are you okay?” and relief washed over me. I told him what had happened and what had been happening to me at school. He told me to sit there quietly and not talk to anyone. He then went into the principal's office. Next thing I know, everyone came out apologizing: the girl and her parents, the principal and vice principal were all practically begging me not to press charges, telling me how sorry they were. Jonah was smiling. He told them he would keep a record and wouldn’t press charges for now. They all thanked us and left. Jonah then asked what I wanted to do that day. I said I wanted ice cream and he took me for ice cream and, I of course, I drowned my ice cream in sprinkles, hence my nickname. I don’t know, it just helped me feel better." I let out a chuckle remembering the first time Jonah called me Sprinkles.

“Things were great between Jonah and I. He moved back to California from New York because of me. We were fine. All three of us. Me, Dad and Jonah.

My therapy was working. The nightmare had reduced. I got into college, and I started dating Eric. He was a bit controlling. He would snap at me, and sometimes tell me my role as his girlfriend was to make him happy. He knew my dad was rich, but he didn’t know how rich. He had no idea who my dad was because my last name was Doherty not Lloyd. I honestly believed if he knew my real last name, he would have tried to kidnap me for ransom. I could sense he wanted my wealth more than he wanted me. He would try to force himself on me, telling me it was role playing. I knew better, but I stupidly kept quiet. Then my nightmares began again and I was back in therapy.

I also didn’t mention Eric to the therapist. I just couldn’t. Dad was worried again; he couldn’t understand what had triggered my nightmares again. It was a monster we thought was dead but was rearing its ugly head again, and more vicious. The therapist gave me the meds, which I was meant to take as needed. She told me it would make me feel happy, plus it would knock me out.

I’d started pushing Eric away from me, but he wasn’t having it. He kept hanging on tight to me, like he wasn’t about to lose his golden egg kind of thing." I shudder just talking about it.

“One night I had a fight with him and returned to my apartment. I took the meds and went to sleep. Eric came over. My roommate had let him in when she was going out, without knowing he wasn’t allowed in. Let’s just say he had a field day with my body. I woke up sore the next morning with multiple hickeys on my neck and bruises on my arm.” I stop talking to wipe my tears.

“I’m sorry, Jola,” he says.

“It’s not your fault, you didn’t know.” I sigh. We arrive at the pond, and I quietly sit on the grass.

“I knew it was Eric. No one would do that. When my roommate accused him, he said he came in and saw me sleeping and left. Maybe someone else came in and raped me, but it wasn’t him, and of course he used a condom, and I was out of it, so I couldn’t identify him. He left marks on purpose.” I inhale and exhale a ton of anger.