THE ILLUSION OF PERFECTION 25

Tayo ended the call unceremoniously, his chest tight as if a knot had been tied around his ribs. He moved with frantic efiiciency, pulling on a simple t-shirt and jeans, the plainness of the clothes a stark contrast to the polished image he had once worn like armor when the Brand still meant something.

He crossed to the bed and with a grunt, he heaved up the old mattress. The springs groaned as if in protest. His fingers slid into the familiar slit in the fabric, searching until they brushed against a small pouch tucked deep inside. He pulled it out and let the mattress drop with a dull thud. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he untied the string. Inside lay the last of his life—the remnants from selling his furniture, his car, every scrap of comfort he'd sacrificed to keep the Brand and the illusion of success alive. He counted the notes slowly. The pouch felt lighter than he remembered. With a heavy sigh, he tied it shut, slipped it into his pocket, and stood. The flat was silent as he left, the emptiness in synch with his life. 

Outside, Lagos glowed and flickered, restless and alive as Tayo flagged down a Keke Napep, bargained half-heartedly with the driver and climbed in. His mind buzzed with anticipation and dread as the tricycle rattled through the busy streets. Tonight, something had to change.

The ride dragged on longer than planned, thanks to Lagos traffic. By the time he finally stepped through the gate of their agreed location, sweat was carving tracks through the dust on his face. Ignoring it, he walked straight to a door with BAR boldly painted on it and pushed through.

The bar was dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of beer, suya and frustration flowing from men watching a football match. It was a far cry from the glamourous five-star lounges the Brand had exposed him to. Nothing like the life he had been promised. Just then, he spotted him. 

Deji was tucked into a corner table, his posture relaxed, legs outstretched, fingers tapping away at a high-end phone, looking like a man who didn't have a care in the world.

Tayo approached, posture stiff, stare intensely focused and jaw set so tight it ached. Deji looked up and his face broke into a grin.

“Tayo!” Deji exclaimed, stood and grabbed his hand for a handshake. “My guy, I swear I don dey worry...”

But Tayo didn’t smile. He yanked his hand back and his voice sharp like broken glass cut through the bar. 

“Drop the act man. I called you. I called you severally. But what did you do? Deji you vanished when I needed you the most, and now you have the guts to call me your guy?”

Deji’s grin evaporated. He slowly sat back down and took a slow, almost agonizing sip of his drink. His eyes hardened into slits and when he spoke, his words dripped like acid.

“Tayo. Mind your tone. You don grow wings abi? You think because azza don drop you can ghost me and reappear talking nonsense? Listen, we have an agreement and there’s no backing out! I own you Tayo...”

“I thought we were brothers." Tayo snapped cutting him off as heat flared in his chest. "I thought you had my back! Deji how could you do this to me?”

Deji slammed his cup onto the table, it shattered with a violent crash. 

“Brothers? Abeg shift! You’re just a job, Tayo. A pawn. You play your part, you take your risks. Guy you don’t expect me to carry your dead weight. Who does that?”

His words hit Tayo like a brutal slap to the face. He could not believe this was the same Deji who had promised to take him under his wings, to lift his brand and help them both rise out of the dust. The same man he had believed and sold, even sacrificed everything for.

 “After everything I’ve done?" Tayo’s fists clenched and his voice rose as raw anger surged through him. "After everything I gave up—you talk to me like this?”

Deji waved him off like a fly. 

“See eh, I no get time for this drama. I go forward your fees— everything you owe me. And hear me well—Tayo, if I don’t see my money by the end of this month, this Lagos go too hot for you. I go handle you myself.”

“What fees?" Tayo choked. "I paid you last month! I’ve paid you every single month since we started this! The Brand account is still in red, Deji! I haven't received a single kobo!”

Deji let out a harsh, loud laugh that didn't reach his eyes, “Tayo! Tayo! No try me o!”

He stood abruptly, shoved his chair aside, and walked out of the bar without a backward glance.

Tayo looked around, suddenly aware of the phones that had been raised. He saw the glowing screens of customers recording, whispering, eyes wide. He knew what would follow—the videos would spread; the headlines would hit major social media and gossip blogs. Another scandal, another stain on The Brand.

But somehow, he didn’t care.

He slumped into the chair Deji had vacated and his thoughts spiraled; How could Deji treat him like this? He was the one who deserved an apology for being abandoned in that hellhole, while Deji lounged in comfort. Yet he had no remorse and gaslit him like he was mad.

Sighing deeply, he pulled out Nadia’s phone. After surmounting the authentication rituals, he finally managed to log into his account. 

Balance—0.00. 

Disappointment wrapped around him as he swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. Just then a waitress walked over to take his order. Waving her off, Tayo glared at the phone in his hands.

What 'fees' was Deji referring to? Tayo querried himself as the phone slipped out of his fingers and crashed onto the table. 

Between his landlord’s threat and Deji’ s sudden hostility, the end of the month loomed like his execution date.

That thought sent cold shivers down his spine and for the first time, reality settled in; he had no mask left to hide behind. No Brand. Nobody to turn to for help. He was alone, bare, cornered and the clock was ticking.

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