30/11/2024
𝗛𝗢𝗪 𝗜 𝗔𝗕𝗢𝗥𝗧𝗘𝗗
Wait, I know you’re already judging me, but can you give me a moment to explain?
I’ve been carrying this guilt, this unbearable weight, for so long now. People look at me and see innocence—an image I’ve carefully crafted—but behind that façade is a darkness I’ve hidden deep within. A darkness I’ve tried to ignore, but it’s too powerful, too suffocating to keep buried any longer.
Here’s how it happened:
Brother Julius is a rugged, passionate apostle. He’s not just our choir coordinator; he’s a man of God with an intense fire that inspires and intimidates. At our weekend rehearsals, he started sending me signals—little glances, a certain tone in his voice. Some might say it was just the normal mentor-student dynamic, but I knew better. I could feel the pull, even though I tried to ignore it.
I admired him—respected him—and maybe even loved him in a way that felt pure at the time. I was a good girl, devoted to the kingdom, zealous for the work of God. I didn’t have time for distractions. But then, one day, he gave me an invitation that I couldn't refuse.
"Come over," he said, "I have new music for us to practice. We’ll be ready for Sunday’s service."
I wanted to lead so badly. To be the one in the spotlight, to feel the power of the mic in my hand. Here was my chance. No second thoughts, no hesitations. I went straight to his house, blinded by ambition.
When I got there, he welcomed me with that warm smile of his—too warm, too inviting. He opened the door and motioned for me to sit. Then he went off to another room to gather snacks. I had been fasting that day, but something about his charm made it impossible to say no. His smile was like a drug, and I knew I was too weak to resist.
"God, forgive me," I whispered as I took the snacks from his hand, my stomach churning with guilt.
Minutes later, he led me into another room—a room filled with musical instruments. It was beautiful, and my admiration for him deepened. His presence felt magnetic. He sat at the keyboard and invited me to sing while he played.
I chose a song—Mercy Chinwe’s “Chioma Mee”—and as the melody flowed, I felt myself starting to connect with God, the music taking me to a place of peace. But that peace shattered when I felt it: a finger lightly brushing my back. I thought it was a mistake, maybe just my imagination, but it wasn’t. I turned to face him, only to find Brother Julius looking at me, his gaze burning with something dangerous, something I couldn’t define.
"What are you doing?" My voice trembled as I pulled back, but I couldn’t escape the pull. The control I thought I had over my body, over my choices, evaporated in that moment.
His words were smooth, like a poison I couldn’t resist. “Let me be your man. I’ve loved you since the day you joined the choir.”
"No," I said, the word barely escaping my lips. But before I could move, his lips were on mine. The shock of it hit me like a bolt of lightning. It was electric, it was wrong, and yet... there was a part of me that felt it—felt the pull, felt the forbidden excitement.
Is this what I have been missing?
The moment spiraled out of control. And just like that, it was over. He reached his peak, devoid of guilt or regret, his breath shallow but calm. Without a word, he gathered his clothes from the floor and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving me alone in that cold, silent room.
I was left with nothing but the crushing weight of what I had allowed to happen. What I had let myself become.
But now I have to ask you this:
What if the next time you’re faced with temptation, you don’t have the strength to walk away? What if you let the moment carry you, believing that you deserve it, that it’s okay because no one’s watching?
Will you stand your ground, or will you fall like I did?
I wish someone had asked me these questions before. I wish someone had warned me, really warned me, about what I was about to lose.
So ask yourself now: What’s more important to you? The love of God and your future, or a moment that can ruin everything you’ve built?
What will you choose?
Watch out for the next episode. You don’t want to miss what happens next in this journey of truth and transformation.
FICTION
@ Amaka Loveth Akata
