“Oshodi?”

“Oshodi! Madam no enter if you no get change o.” The bus conductor spat at me.

I nodded before sinking down on the uncomfortable seat. For people who increased the fare prices and blamed it on fuel increment, they refused to repair their seats. The smell of body odour hit my nose when the conductor bent inside the moving bus, stretching to collect his money.

This was the walk of shame I had to do every Friday, 7pm. When Miriam will hustle me out of her house and refuse to let me sleep over in fear of her husband finding us together.

Miriam would explore my body and fuck me senseless, whispering how much she loved me between orgasms. But she was like Cinderella when the clock strike 7pm, a completely different woman who wouldn’t give me the grace of taking a bath and washing the scent of our love-making off my skin, a woman who stood arms folded, watching with a cold gaze as I slowly put on my clothes hoping to stall seconds. I would fume, I would swear never to go back to her house but I found myself nodding when she asked “see you next Friday?” before slamming the door to my face.

I sniffed, trying not to cry on my walk of shame back home.