Yes, you thought I’d never write this one, didn’t you? Continued from part three.
The next day, I was scheduled to go back to the city I lived in. On a whim, I decided to drop by at Nina’s to say “bye”, as I did not know how soon I could return. I called a cab, and had it drop me off near the apartment building. While I was walking towards it, I heard the Imperial March faintly from somewhere in the distance.
“Funny,” I thought. “Someone has the same ring tone as you.”
I only then realized that it was actually my phone that was ringing. I checked: Nina’s number. Oh! What a coincidence. I answered it.
“Hello!” I said, simply.
“Hello, who is this?”, a male voice asked on the other end.
“Normally, it’s up to the caller to identify themselves,” I replied. “But I am Secretgeek, and you are not my friend Nina. Who are you, and why do you have her phone?”
“This is my phone,” the man said. “Who are you, are you Nina’s boyfriend?”
“No, Nina is just my friend,” I replied without missing a beat. That quick reaction may have saved my neck. I continued: “I was just about to drop by on my way back home, this is really confusing. May I come in?”
“Yeah, you do that, I think we have something to discuss.”
So I went inside the building. The other woman Nina had introduced as “a friend of my sister” was waiting for the elevator. “Oh, you’re Nina’s friend,” she said. “Come on in!”
The guy turned out to be a very muscular African guy. Easily a head shorter than me. Easily as wide as me. All of it muscles. I doubted not for a second that he could break my neck, wipe the floor with me, and throw me out the window in one quick movement. Nina saw me and jumped away and hid behind the couch. The other woman saw the situation and went into the kitchen.
“I have to go to work,” the guy said. “Walk with me.” I thought my end had come. But had I any choice? I decided to play it cool. After all, I had not even touched Nina in any way, and in my experience sticking to the truth was always a smart move. Well, usually.
We went outside and took the bus to the bar district. The guy told me he worked as a bouncer at one. I didn’t doubt his qualifications for the job. As we arrived, he bought me a drink and got himself a beer. Then he explained his view of things.
“So, let me get this straight. You’re really just a friend of Nina?”
“Word of honor,” I said. “Attractive girl, very nice, wouldn’t mind such a girlfriend. Unfortunately, I can’t claim any such thing.”
“Well, you know, Nina is my wife.” I kind of had expected something like that. Whatever. “And she’s pregnant with our first child.”
As he said that, I remembered that Nina had told me about “being at the hospital” some time back. I hadn’t followed up on it beyond a simple “nothing serious, I hope” – I am not the person to snoop into someone’s personal affairs.
“Whose place did she tell you the apartment was?”
The guy chuckled. “It’s mine. Of course I can see what’s going on, and now I wonder: Did Nina see anybody else?” He sounded sincere enough, but of course I realized there was no real way for me to verify it.
After some more talk, the guy decided he had to start work. I bid him farewell.
Only, I didn’t go to the train station as I should have. I called myself another taxi, and went back to Nina. The “friend of her sister” opened the door. “Oh, come in, come in.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I just want to ask a question to Nina really quickly.”
“Sure, go ahead,” she said.
Nina was not in “her” room. It seemed. Until I noted she was hiding behind the door. She looked at me with angry eyes.
“Thank you for wrecking everything,” she said.
“Who wrecked what? Why did you lie to me, and didn’t tell me you were married?”
“That is not my husband,” she hissed. “He’s the boyfriend of my sister.”
“Then why did you hide?”
“I thought it was my sister returning. Do you think I want her to know I am fucking her boyfriend?”
I never saw Nina again after that day, nor do I know what became of her. I have serious doubts about both their stories. The “friend of Nina’s sister” was a weird touch, too. Of course it is possible that she lived there, too, but it wasn’t really that big of an apartment. Maybe the guy was a pimp? I’ll never know. To be quite honest I don’t really care. What reason would Nina have had to lie to me at the end? Is “I am a prostitute” a worse thing to tell someone than “I fuck my sister’s boyfriend”? I wonder. At either rate, I am very glad I didn’t do anything with Nina. Because no matter how you twist this little strange story, I am better off for not having to fallen too deeply into the rabbit whole.
And now you can all make fun of me.