A Deviant’s Guide to Self Destruction Chapter 3: The origin of deviancy

David Alagoa
Nov 7 · 12 min read

“Only after disaster can we be resurrected. It’s only after you’ve lost everything that you’re free to do anything. Nothing is static, everything is evolving, everything is falling apart.” — Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club


The exciting thing about the end of the year is that most people seem glad to have been done with the year, even though their church stickers carried messages of that year being that of their divine, supernatural, prosperous, or miraculous; a fancy adjective that promotes optimism, favour, blessing, glory, or intervention; a usual noun that either denotes good fortune or a Bini woman’s name (Intervention could easily be an Igbo woman’s name but let us not dwell on sentiments).

The city was bubbling with busyness and last-minute errands before people either went to church or clubs. The traffic was building up. The harmattan had laid its foundations. And most were ready to paint the town red. In one of those hotels Lagosians love to call 5-Star, when they were really just 3 or 4-star but couldn’t tell the difference (one who has never had strawberries in his life will think strawberry ice-cream tastes like strawberries), a man in his late 20’s sat in the lobby, looking through a magazine. He was a good looking fellow and from his carriage, one could tell he was born into wealth. He was also 6ft, which meant he got some attention wherever he went. However, this man had mastered the art of concealing himself in plain sight. It wasn’t that he had a low self-esteem and couldn’t stand people noticing him. He was intelligent enough to know that drawing unnecessary attention to oneself is one step away from giving up the smallest form of individuality. He prided himself in being able to maintain solitude for hours, sometimes days. However, he did enjoy the occasional company of his friends, though he didn’t like them that much, for he felt they were just trying to get in his good graces in order to enjoy the perks of being around a millionaire and the son of a billionaire (in Naira).

On this fine evening, his mood was a bit unsettled. He was waiting for his girlfriend to meet up with him in the hotel so they could have dinner and discuss. Their relationship had been shaky for the past few months, with mostly her being slightly more agitated than usual. Yes, it can be said that she had an attitude problem but to him, he felt she was being that way because beauty comes with a certain cruelty that its admirers must endure. He liked her and thought he did everything to make her as happy as he could. So when she began withdrawing and having mood swings, his mind raced and wondered if he had done something to upset her. He had planned to spend the new year with her in Dubai but she claimed she had to be with family and couldn’t travel, which was fine with him because the next thing to travelling when it comes to impressing women was fine dining (I personally don’t think travelling is the first on the list, though it’s rated highly). He wanted to spend the evening, trying to get her to come back to her usual mood, being tired of being treated like a kitchen rag. The mood swings were normal but he was used to them lasting a couple of hours and he always found a way to switch things up. She was important to him and he just wanted her to be happy with him.

He looked down at his wristwatch, a limited edition Hublot Depeche Mode (to be fair, I wouldn’t care if it was a limited edition. It’s a fucking Hublot. Some people wear my 2-year house rent on their wrist. If I work harder this year, maybe it will go down to a year’s rent). It was almost 7pm. He had been waiting for over an hour and was already getting impatient. This was typical of her, showing up late. He had told her to meet him by 5pm, knowing she would be dressed to arrive in untimely fashion. It didn’t help that there was traffic at this time. He dropped the magazine on the glass table in front of him and looked around. The lobby was busy with people checking in and talking loudly. Men with big wallets and bellies laughed heartily with women with big bags and butts. Some kids ran down the right side of the lobby. The porter stood at his post, trying to appear as accommodating as possible. He smiled to himself and wondered if the porter occasionally farted when people walked past (not saying they do this, but the one time I walked into a hotel lobby, I caught a whiff of that gas and the porter looked at me with the guilt of a man who had eaten a day’s old beans).

His phone rang in his pocket and he sighed while bringing it out. It was her and he answered immediately.

“I’m outside”, her voice said without any emotion and hung up.

He sighed again and got up. The scent of his perfume (Bvlgari Man, since you were obviously wondering) lingered as he moved through the lobby to the exit door. He knew the drill. He would have to listen to her complain about something that delayed her, make attempts to put a smile on her face, and she would pout and then smile. As soon as he got out, he slowly looked around to find where she was parked and spotted her standing next to her car. She was indeed a beauty, the kind that most men would give everything, even their souls, to have a night with her. She looked around idly and met his gaze. She didn’t smile. He didn’t take that as a good sign. He would have to jump through hoops of fire this time. He walked up to her, gave her a hug and kiss on the cheek. He noticed she didn’t return the hug and stood stiff. His worries increased by one.

“How are you, Kayinsola?”, he asked.

He thought better than to use pet names when she was in this mood, as it was prone to cause more agitation. She shrugged and looked around her, avoiding his gaze.

“We need to talk”, she said with a hint of irritation.

His heart dropped down to his intestines and his worries increased like an infinity counter.

“Alright. Let’s go in and get settled. You need to rest”, he replied calmly, taking her hand.

She refused to let him hold it and sighed.

“I can’t do this anymore, Rotimi”, she said, looking away from him.

Those words hit him so hard, he almost lost his breath. There was a brief silence as he glared at her as she stared into space.

“What?”, he said, barely containing his anger.

“There we go! I say something and you try not to show any sign of acknowledgement! Instead of letting it out, you keep it inside! I can’t do this anymore! I’m tired! I feel choked around you. I feel like I’m walking on eggshells every time”, she said, looking at him with annoyance this time.

He just stared at her as though she was reciting the national anthem at a bank. It was typical for Kayinsola to accuse him of things he didn’t do, especially when she was guilty of something. Yes, he indeed had a temper but he never took it out on her. She would insist that he showed some emotions and try to antagonise him but not once did he give in. But this was new. He wasn’t a novice. He knew what a break up scenario looked like, he being mostly on the other side of the story. He could feel that anger rising inside him but did his best to keep a lid on it.

“What did I do wrong?”, he asked staring at her.

“You think buying gifts and trips around the world is a way to show affection. Honestly, I can’t stand it anymore. I need someone who shows emotion and a bit of vulnerability. You act like nothing bothers you and it annoys me! And it doesn’t even help that you still use co-”

He cut her off by grabbing her wrist tightly. The lid he kept on the anger was beginning to fall off. She looked at him with fear in her eyes and wrestled her wrist away from his hand. He let her go and kept staring at her.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”, he said to her angrily.

“Now you want to be angry?”, she asked mockingly.

“Honestly, I’ve been seeing someone else. I love him and I don’t love you anymore. I can’t keep pretending to be with someone who doesn’t care enough for me or himself, that he has to use cocaine and other stupid shit to stay sane. You need to get help, you know. I may not love you anymore but I do care about your wellbeing”

A bomb went off in Rotimi’s head that was only felt by him alone. His hands began to shake but he tried to keep them still.

“You…”, he said, failing to complete his sentence.

“I just wanted to come tell you myself. It’s only right. Don’t try to call or message me please. I really need my space. This was difficult for me”, she said, looking at him.

Rotimi only stood there in silence as she got back into her car, pulled out of the parking spot, and drove off. He stood there for about 3 minutes, staring at nothing in particular. A group of young women walked past, looked at him, and giggled to themselves. He glared at them and they fell silent, walking as fast as they could. The feeling inside him could only be described in one way. It was a violent storm filled with hate and rage, ready to blow mercilessly. His hands began to shake again. He looked around and walked briskly to his car, which was parked on the other side of the hotel. As he drove through the gate, the security man raised his hands in the usual manner that symbolised a request for tips. Rotimi stepped on the brake, slowly wound down the glass, and looked at the security guard. Security saw the look on his face and slowly brought his hands down.

“That’s all you exist for. Your role in this world is to watch people come and leave. Keep it that way”, he said in a sinister calm manner.

The security man looked like someone exposed him some dark secret of his. He stood in confusion and watched as Rotimi drove out.

The drive home seemed to be the longest journey Rotimi had ever made. The traffic had gotten worse, with people driving recklessly, most likely in a hurry to get home. A car beside him honked endless and Rotimi could only turn slowly to have a glimpse of the idiot. The driver kept moving his hands animatedly and Rotimi turned away and looked straight ahead. His mind was clouded with different thoughts. Where did he go wrong? Why would she do this to him? He had felt something in his guts these past weeks. Her attitude had changed. He beat himself up for his ignorance. The bitch cheated on him and had the nerve to tell him to his face. He couldn’t cry as he had been trained by his father to never show emotions because people will perceive that as weakness and use that as an opportunity. Had he been so blinded by his feelings for Kayinsola that even he couldn’t see what was going on clearly? He knew how to read people. Deep down in his gut, he knew Kayinsola wasn’t right for him. The endless arguments she instigated and the apologies he had to make.

Almost like my mother, he thought to himself, feeling bitterness in his mouth.

His mother had once provoked his father, just to get him to leave the house as he usually did when he got angry, even though he never outrightly showed it. Her plan was to have some friends over but she knew that he didn’t enjoy having them over because, according to him, they were sycophants. The provocation did not go as planned though. That night, his father beat her up, threw her into her room, and locked her inside. It took the intervention of their priest and family friend to finally calm him down. He regretted his actions and had to pay for them by enduring the sponsorship of trips, parties, and extravagant spending. Rotimi was just a teenager when he witnessed this and his father called him into his study one day and told him these words:

“You must never lay your hands on a woman. What I did was a mistake. Men should never lose their temper. It must be controlled. There are other ways of getting even with a woman but never lay your hands on her”

For most of his life, his father was his idol. He listened eagerly to everything he said and watched everything he did closely. He even began to walk and talk like him. His feelings for his mother was mixed with affection and dread, as she always found fault in everything he did. But his father was different. He was strict but he always acknowledged when he did well. Rotimi was sent to the finest schools and even after his days at St. John’s College, Oxford, his father ensured he attended the Royal Military Academy, Sandhurst, to instill discipline and focus in his only child. And Rotimi was grateful for this as he had learnt independence along the way and excelled among his peers. When he had told his father that he wanted to be by himself and build his own legacy, his father only smiled and welcomed the idea. His mother, however, was opposed to it. She felt he was being immature for leaving her nest and soaring out on his own. But Rotimi did and learnt to work under other men like his father in order to study their ways.

By the time, Rotimi had reached home, it was already past 9pm. He rushed in and sat down on his couch. He had rented this small apartment to keep a low profile but his last name usually opened doors for him. He took a deep breath and let out a howl. The pain he felt inside had eaten deep and everything felt like ash to him. He sobbed like a baby and knelt down by the couch. He let his emotions run wild in this moment. Everything came out. His hatred for Kayinsola. His disdain for his mother. His respect for his father. His shame for letting himself get carried away by love. Love. He didn’t think he knew what that was anymore. He got up and kicked the centrepiece in front of him. Now he was really angry. He went into his room and searched his drawer for his stash. He did 3 lines of cocaine and let out another howl. Suddenly, his mind went calm for a few seconds. What happened next was a transformation one can only describe as drastic. His eyes were closed and as he opened them, they had no emotions in them anymore. It was as though they were dead. At this moment, he felt this certain stillness and he looked around him. He knew exactly what needed to happen. He had spent too much of his life holding his negative emotions and feelings back. Now he had to use them. He obviously knew he couldn’t lash out frantically at everyone. No, he had to be more strategic. The pain he felt had to be shared by everyone one way or the other. This was going to be a new beginning for him and he thanked Kayinsola for opening his eyes to this new path. He had picked up the art of journaling in his University days and so he went to his desk where his old journals were and threw them into the bin.

That was the old me. I will start afresh now, he thought to himself.

He brought out a new one from the spare room he had turned into a study and sat at his table. He stared at the blank page for a moment and then picking up a pen, he began to write:

“ 31st of December, 2013

On this day, I knock on the devil’s gates and ask for understanding. I have seen that being seen as good and kind does no good to me. I have seen how difficult it is to be completely cruel and wicked. It will take a lot of hard work but with my recent experiences, I now understand I was built for this.

Love is a lie created by us to excuse weakness. Honesty is a virtue that leads a life of pain. I choose to stay numb from this day henceforth. I will do everything everyone isn’t doing. I choose to ruin and destroy the lives of those who caused me such anger and regret. And then I will go after those who haven’t felt such before.

This diary will be a chronicle of my thoughts and actions. I will not lose my resolve. I will get anything I want by any means necessary. There can be no moment of hesitation. The ruthless inherit the earth and I must be as ruthless with myself as I will with the rest of the world.”

As he finished this entry, a wicked smile crept onto his face. The rest of the world celebrated the end of a new year. He celebrated the beginning of a new self.

David Alagoa

Written by

In one sentence: I write for the sake of writing.

Welcome to a place where words matter. On Medium, smart voices and original ideas take center stage - with no ads in sight. Watch
Follow all the topics you care about, and we’ll deliver the best stories for you to your homepage and inbox. Explore
Get unlimited access to the best stories on Medium — and support writers while you’re at it. Just $5/month. Upgrade