It was a day like any other but little did I know that I’d end up next to someone who had died. I went on about my work knowing I was going to meet up with John in the evening. I was excited since I hadn’t seen him the whole week and he also seemed excited about our meeting. He kept in touch throughout the day, updating me of his whereabouts. Since he was a professional driver, he went to multiple places in one day. As such, he wanted to make sure I didn’t arrive at his home only to find that he was not around.
We agreed to meet at around 6 pm when he was sure that he would be done with the day’s work. It was also convenient for me since I had to finish a few errands before leaving town. At 5 pm, I left work and went about my errands. By 5.30 pm, I had embarked on my journey to meet my boyfriend. To no surprise, I reached there before him and I had nowhere else to go so I waited outside his house.
He came 30 minutes later panting like a dog. He didn’t look very well but he brushed it off as he was excited to see me. The panting didn’t stop and he started sweating profusely. He also seemed a bit too eager to get intimate.
“Let’s take a shower then. We’ve been out and about all day. Plus, you’re sweating so much.”
“No, babe. We’ll shower later.” He answered pulling me back.
Eventually, I gave in despite his lack of romance and we got intimate. Things weren’t right from the beginning. It was like he was at war and the sweating became worse. He excused himself several times to drink water. After an hour, he rolled over and I thought he had fallen asleep. I got up took a shower then left to buy groceries for dinner.
When I returned, John was still in the same position I left him. I shook him to try and wake him up but he was unresponsive. He wasn’t breathing and eventually it hit me that he might have died. I let out a loud scream which alerted his neighbours. Within no time, people had swarmed around his apartment, trying to get a peek at what was happening. The caretaker came in and called the police once he confirmed that John had died.
“What happened?” he asked as we waited for the police to come.
Shaking, I tried to explain to him, “Johnn was just acting weird. He was breathing hard, sweating and after we got intimate, he just rolled over. I thought he was sleeping.”
“Or maybe it’s this pill that’s killing men all over the country,” he replied.
“But why would he take one? John is young, he didn’t need pills.” I said then broke down in tears.
The police arrived after a few minutes and dispersed the crowd outside the door. They then made their way inside, took pictures of the scene then covered John’s body. I was still shaking so they gave me a few minutes to calm down then started asking me lots of questions.
“Was he sick?”
“Did he eat anything?”
“How did you know he was dead?”
“What’s your relationship to him?”
I barely had time to answer one question before they bombarded me with another. Eventually, they let me go and left the house. I didn’t know whether to leave the house or call his brother and inform him of what had happened. The caretaker offered to call the brother and told me to go stay somewhere else. I was already feeling sick thinking that someone had died in that house.
His death was ruled an accidental overdose and his family began the funeral arrangements. As much as I tried to distance myself from that incident, word got around that I was the girl that made a man die during the act. John and I barely knew each other, we had only been dating for a month and now I was forever linked to him. It didn’t take long for my colleagues to get wind of the story.
“Abbie, is it true?”
“Is what true?”
“That someone died while you two were intimate.”
The question gave me a flashback and I felt lightheaded. I must have fainted because I regained consciousness after a few minutes only to find all my workmates surrounding me, including my boss. They all looked concerned as if they thought that I also had issues. It was clear that things will never be the same again in my life. My boss offered to give me a week’s leave to take care of myself.
That week, I decided to move to a different town. I called a friend of mine who lived in Machakos and asked if I could stay with her for a month while I sorted myself out. She agreed and hosted me. However, I couldn’t run away from my past. The news had reached there somehow and people stared at me every time I was in public. Things there weren’t so bad, however.
I was also approached by two women who shared their experience with men dying while in the act. I never thought the day would come when I could smile at the experience. My friend organized some work for me at her place of employment as a secretary and I was able to settle at my new residence.
Though I still get flashbacks and occasional nightmares, I’ve been able to move on from that ordeal. Talking to the women helped me feel less alone and with time, the questions and the stares have became less. I still find it hard to be intimate and I haven’t been on a date since my boyfriend passed away. I’ve become more cautious about the type of man I show interest in. Nowadays, learning someone’s medical history is very important so you know if they’re at any risk of suffering from a heart attack.
This fiction story is inspired by K24’s article on a lover while having sex.
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