There is something deeply terrifying about being followed in the dark by a man, even if that man is someone you know or have dated. If you have never experienced this, you might have a false sense of security, believing nothing bad can happen to you. It is always surprising to learn that you are not as safe as you thought.
Let me back up a bit. I met Charles (real name withheld) at my university in January 2023. He was in his final year, and I was in my second year. When we met, Charles was 26 years old, and I was 18. He was tall, light-skinned, and extremely attractive. Charles was a heavy smoker and had a bad-boy vibe going on, but I overlooked these red flags because, honestly, he was hot! At the time, it felt like something from a romance novel—the bad boy having feelings for the quiet girl.
We exchanged phone numbers, and several weeks later, Charles became my boyfriend. It was just great. I had this insanely attractive man, and he was all mine. He was also a feminist (or so I thought), which was a serious green flag for me. Handsome and respectful of women’s rights? Where do I sign up?
However, certain conversations stood out to me—things he said that I found weird.
I remember one day we were talking about consent, and Charles said, “Sex is something you do for people you love, even if it’s not something you want at the time.”
That raised a question in my mind: Does he understand what consent is? More importantly, does he know the beauty of enthusiastically giving consent? (Insert the carriage scene with Luke Newton and Nicola Coughlan from Bridgerton Season 3 here).
With the question of consent and his understanding of it ringing in my mind, I was worried when he asked me to come over to his place – concerned for my safety, and rightfully so. However, when I refused to go, he got really mad and broke up with me.
Two days later, Charles began texting me again, saying things about how I wasn’t willing to fight for our relationship. Long story short, I gave in and went to his place. But he didn’t touch me sexually, as I had feared.
We just ate, cuddled, and saw a movie. In hindsight, however, the fact that he got so mad when I wouldn’t come over was a red flag I should not have ignored.
But, as British Nigerian author Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé says:
“That was the problem with love. It created blind spots in your mind. Blood-red flags were blocked out by high levels of dopamine and the trick of a gentlemanly smile.”
Things were great for a while until Charles started pressuring me for sex. I kept saying no—not because I was trying to save myself for marriage, but because I didn’t think I was ready for that level of commitment.
Charles made me feel like I was doing something wrong—as if I was withholding something he needed. I repeatedly told him that dating me didn’t entitle him to my body, but that didn’t go over well. This back-and-forth continued for months – the constant arguments about sex. He would claim I didn’t love him enough to sleep with him, and we would “break up,” only to reunite days later. It was a strange, exhausting rollercoaster.
Charles’s constant demands for sex were slowly eroding my resolve to stand my ground. So I agreed. However, the day before I was supposed to go to his place, my mom called and asked about him. She warned me not to commit to anything I would regret—as if she sensed I was about to offer my body to placate my distressed boyfriend.
I don’t think my mother realized how her words pulled me back from the brink of a decision that would have led to long-term regret. When I told Charles I wouldn’t sleep with him, he issued an ultimatum: have sex or break up. I chose the latter.
Perhaps he thought I was joking, but I meant it. He called me names: heartless, mean, cold, vile. Then, days later, he apologized, claiming he was just in his feelings. I asked him why he never expressed romantic sentiments when he was “in his feelings”, and why he always resorted to rudeness and demeaning language. He didn’t have an answer.
As I was reeling from the aftermath of my breakup with Charles, a stranger texted me on Instagram, and I replied, unaware that this conversation would unravel a shocking twist.
We started talking and sharing stories about our past relationships. It seemed really safe at first. I was going through things I had no idea how to tell my friends. I think a part of me was terrified of their judgment, so it felt good talking to someone, even though I didn’t know this person.
But after opening up to this stranger, I had a feeling of unease. I can’t explain it. It was just a thought at the back of my mind that kept disturbing me. Minutes later, Charles sent me screenshots of my chat with this person. I was shocked to discover that the “stranger” I had been talking to was, in fact, my creepy ex-boyfriend, Charles.
He laughed at me and then got angry that I was discussing our private issues with a stranger. I blocked him immediately—on WhatsApp, Instagram, everywhere!
Later that night, I took a walk because I didn’t have anyone to talk to. I had texted one of my secondary school friends because, deep down, I was convinced that I had done something wrong and felt compelled to apologize to Charles.
This guy really messed with my mental health. My friend told me I didn’t owe him an apology, that all of Charles’ ploys were ways to render me vulnerable to abuse. Honestly, it would have worked if I hadn’t reached out to someone for support and guidance on recognizing the signs of emotional manipulation.
Anyway, that night, Charles called me from a different number and requested to use my power bank. Dumb old me told him where I was and said he could come and meet me. He got there, took the power bank, and left.
Two hours later, my creepy ex-boyfriend returned, claiming we needed to talk. I told him I had nothing to say to him. He continued to lecture me, saying I had no right to dismiss him since I was the one who cheated, and that he deserved closure.
“Cheated? The last time I checked, we were done. Besides, you are the one behind the fake account.” I couldn’t even hide my disgust.
I requested to have my power bank back and stood up to leave. Charles insisted on escorting me to my hostel, and I agreed on the condition that we wouldn’t have a conversation. He agreed, but just minutes into our walk, he began talking about how he had given me everything, how I had broken his heart, and how no one would ever love me like he did. I remained silent, listening to his gaslighting.
Suddenly, he pulled my earbuds out of my ears and got in my face. I calmly asked him to give me my power bank so I could make my way home by myself. He did not agree. I had never seen him so angry, so furious. There was something strange about his eyes too. It was then that I started to fear for my safety. People walked past us and pretended they didn’t see anything.
“Please stop, you’re scaring me…” I said in a teary voice.
“What are you going to do about it?” he asked, his tone very terrifying.
Charles took my face cap off and tossed it away. He called me a slut, a whore, cheap trash, and a ho. I remember these names because his words still live rent-free in my head. He got pushy, and I thought he was going to hit me, so I had to shout for help.
Charles left me alone the minute I yelled, and people started to stare. I could barely sleep that night, shaken by the terrifying experience.
The following morning, I woke up to about 50 texts from an unknown Instagram account, which turned out to be my stalking ex. He had apologized for “losing his cool,” a trivial way to describe the harassment and verbal abuse I experienced. I blocked him again.
Months later, he started calling, claiming that he failed his final exams because I had broken up with him. Charles also said that his life was falling apart without me.
Then, incredibly, he asked if we could still be friends. In what universe was that possible? I told him to seek immediate therapy. He responded by trying to manipulate me with religion, saying God would judge me. But well, God will judge us all right? So I’m never worried about that.
Then I blocked his number for good. Even after that, there were times when I would find him outside my hostel, hanging around. Charles had begun stalking me. I would run back inside whenever I spotted anyone who looked like him. For months, I lived in constant fear.
He was bloody relentless. This creepy man still managed to contact me via my bank account. He would send ten naira to me and write silly messages in the remarks section.
Sometimes, it was a simple “Please unblock my number,” and other times it was “Why are you still so mad?” “I miss you and I love you,” “Get over it already!”
Reflecting on my experience, I’m grateful that I found the courage to walk away early from a toxic relationship. Charles tried to intimidate me, but I found strength in setting boundaries. Though the memory remains awful, it has taught me so many lessons, including that self-respect is non-negotiable.
By sharing my true story, I hope to empower others dealing with toxic partners. Remember, the red flags are usually there from the start—don’t ignore them. Trust your instincts and prioritize your well-being.
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While this is a true-life experience shared by Azeezat Adeniji, she has chosen not to disclose the real name of her toxic ex-boyfriend.
Azeezat is an English Language student from Nigeria. She enjoys writing, reading and trying new recipes.
