VOMIT

Vomit.

It was everywhere.

It smelled like vomit tinged with alcohol. A whole lot of alcohol. 

The doctors said that's why she died. Her body needed to expel the toxins but her drunken state prevented her from waking up, and so, she choked.

They found most of it in her lungs.

It makes me wonder if she remembered our last conversation, where I said, "one of these days, you're going to choke on your vomit."

Maybe she did. And maybe she wanted to prove me right and refused to get up. Maybe she wanted to see if there was truly a white light that you go into when you're dying. 

I look over at all the people sitting in the waiting room of the hospital. My father is tapping his foot impatiently and checking his watch. He needs to leave so he can go and be with the other woman, the one my mother pretends doesn't exist. My mother is crying softly into her handkerchief, and she is sitting by herself, refusing any form of consolation. Gboyega, my cousin who has lived with us since I can remember, is sober enough to recognize the sadness of this moment. He blames himself for this, somehow, because she had caught him drinking Daddy's whiskey when he was fourteen and she had asked for some too, in exchange for keeping his secret. He thinks he put the gun in her hand, but as I told him earlier, he didn't ask her to pull the trigger. 

Some aunts and uncles are present, whispering about her trust fund and what happens to it now that she is dead. They do this in between heavy sighs and soft hisses, their bodies shaking in fake sympathy.

My eyes fall on Innocent. He looks like he is going to die. And maybe he will. He is the only one that has ever loved my sister wholeheartedly, through every high, low, detox, and rehab episode. He used to tell her he'd never leave her, and if she was sober enough, she'd smile, revealing the pearly gates of heaven. And he did his best for her, maybe even more. It just wasn't enough. 

My sister, Morenike, decided that she had had enough and she chose to leave. I know that because she left a note. I removed it before anyone else could see it, no one needs to know that she killed herself, they all should go to their graves wallowing in their guilt. It is better this way. 

I rub my belly, feeling the baby kick and I look at Innocent again. He is going to be a wonderful father, I whisper to my sister even as they wheel her body to the morgue. He doesn't know it yet, but one night of orchestrated passion had birthed this baby. It was the final phase of Morenike's plan, and it had fallen into place. I walk over to him and push his hands away from his face, and then I sit on his lap. My family is in shock, but I ignore them, kissing the man I have loved since I was eighteen. 

They will figure it out soon enough.

The End.

Such complex complications.

Photo by Fiona Art from Pexels.

The swirls are lovely.