BECOMING
CHAPTER 28
ZINZI
The club is packed. Lights pulse red and blue across the walls, bass thumping so hard I feel it in my ribs. We push through the crowd toward the bar first. Chulumanco is already laughing, her red dress catching every flash of light. She looks good—really good. Confident. Happy. I’m happy for her.
We reach the bar. I raise two fingers to the bartender. “Four shots of tequila.”
He nods, lines up the glasses fast. Salt, lime, the sharp burn as we lick, shoot, bite. The liquor hits quick, warm in my chest, loosening everything. Chulumanco wipes her mouth, grinning.
“Let’s go for another round,” she says. “And a bottle of the good red.”
The bartender slides over the wine, two fresh glasses. We pour, clink, drink. The second shots come right after. We throw them back together. Heat spreads through me, fast and bright. Energy clicks on like a switch.
Chulumanco grabs my wrist. “Friend, let’s go to the dance floor. Now.”
I don’t argue. We weave through bodies, find space near the centre. The beat drops heavier, faster. I close my eyes for a second, let the music take over. Arms up, hips moving, hair swinging. Chulumanco dances beside me—loose, free, smiling like she’s finally letting go of something heavy. I match her energy, spinning, laughing when she bumps my shoulder on purpose.
We keep going. Song after song. Sweat beads on my neck, my dress sticks to my skin. My calves start to burn but I don’t stop. Neither does she. It feels good, sweaty, alive, uncomplicated.
Eventually we slow. Breathing hard. Thirsty. We push back toward our table. The bottle is still there, glasses half-full. We drop into the chairs, laughing, fanning ourselves.
Two men appear almost immediately. Tall, dressed sharp, one in a black shirt, the other in navy. They smile, lean in.
“Mind if we join you ladies?” the one in black asks.
I open my mouth to answer, probably yes, maybe no but before the word leaves me, a voice cuts through the noise from behind them.
“That won’t be necessary.”
I know that voice. Low. Calm. Familiar in a way that makes my stomach flip and my face heat at the same time.
Monwabisi. He’s with my brother.
The two men glance back, see who’s speaking, and step aside without another word. Monwabisi walks past them, pulls out the chair next to me, sits down like he owns the table. Mesuli is right behind him, already sliding into the seat beside Chulumanco. She lights up the second she sees him, leans into his side, his arm going around her shoulders like it belongs there.
I can’t look at Monwabisi. My heart is suddenly loud in my ears, louder than the music. I stare at the wine bottle instead, fingers tight around the stem of my glass.
He leans in a little. Voice close enough that I feel the warmth of it against my ear.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to Port Serenity?”
I swallow. Force myself to meet his eyes. He’s watching me, steady, quiet, like he’s been waiting for this moment.
“Why would I have to inform you?” I ask. I mean for it to sound light. It comes out quieter than I want.
He doesn’t smile. Just holds my gaze.
“You didn’t have to,” he says. “But I would’ve loved if you did.”
My throat goes tight. I look down at the table, trace the edge of the coaster with my thumb.
“Next time I will,” I say.
“I’d appreciate that.”
We sit in silence for a beat. The music changes—slower, deeper bass, the kind that makes bodies move closer. Chulumanco and Mesuli are already lost in each other, whispering, laughing softly, his hand on her thigh under the table.
Monwabisi stands. Offers me his hand.
“Dance?”
I hesitate. Then I take it.
We walk to the floor. The crowd parts just enough. The song shifts again, something intimate, slow, heavy with rhythm. He pulls me in. Not rough. Just sure. One hand on my waist, the other catching mine. I rest my free hand on his shoulder. We start moving.
The beat is low, insistent. He guides me, easy, like we’ve done this before. I keep my eyes on his chest at first. Safer that way. But he lifts my chin with two fingers, gentle, so I have to look up.
“Don’t be shy,” he says. “I’m not a stranger.”
My breath catches. Inside my head I finish the sentence he didn’t say: but you’re my crush.
I force a small smile. “I’m not shy. Why would I be shy?”
He tilts his head. “You tell me.”
I don’t answer. I can’t. My pulse is everywhere—wrists, throat, fingertips. He’s close. Too close. Smells like clean cotton and something darker, warmer. His hand slides lower on my waist, thumb brushing the small of my back through the fabric. I feel it in my spine.
Then he leans in. Slow. Gives me time to pull away.
I don’t.
His lips brush mine. light, testing, barely there. A baby kiss. Almost nothing.
He pulls back just enough to see my face. Waiting.
I don’t think. I just lean in.
This kiss is different. Deeper. Real. My hand slides to the back of his neck, fingers in his hair. His arm tightens around my waist, pulling me flush against him. The music disappears. The crowd disappears. It’s just his mouth, his hand on my back, the way he tastes like wine and want.
When we break apart we’re both breathing hard. His forehead rests against mine.
“Still not shy?” he asks, voice rough.
I laugh—shaky, surprised at myself. “Shut up.”
He smiles against my mouth. Kisses me again. Slower this time. Like he’s memorizing it.
We keep dancing. Or swaying. I don’t know what it is anymore. I just know I don’t want to stop.
Later, much later, we walk back to the table. Chulumanco and Mesuli are still wrapped up in each other, her head on his shoulder, his fingers tracing circles on her arm. They look up when we sit.
Zinzi grins at me. “You good?”
I nod. “Yeah. I’m good.”
Monwabisi sits beside me. His thigh presses against mine under the table. He doesn’t move it away. Neither do I.
We order another round. Talk. Laugh. The night stretches on.
*
*
MESULI
The club lights are still flashing behind my eyes even after we step outside. The air hits cold against my skin, sharp after the heat inside. Chulumanco is leaning on me, arm hooked through mine, laughing at something Zinzi just said. Zinzi is giggling too, swaying a little in her heels. They’re both drunk—happy drunk, loose and loud. I’m drunk too. Monwabisi is drunk. We didn’t plan on drinking tonight. When Chulumanco and Zinzi left the house earlier I called him straight away.
“They’re going to the club,” I told him. “You coming with me?”
He didn’t hesitate. “I’m on my way.”
I knew he would come. He’s been carrying a quiet thing for Zinzi for years. I’ve seen it, the way his eyes follow her when she walks into a room, the way he gets quieter when she’s near, the way he always finds a reason to be wherever she is. She does the same. Different ways, same ache. I’ve never said a word about it. If it’s real, they’ll find each other. If it’s not, pushing it will only break something. So I keep my mouth shut and let them circle each other.
We’re all standing outside the club now. Chulumanco is still laughing, head tipped back, hair loose from dancing. Zinzi is trying to order an Uber on her phone but keeps missing the buttons. Monwabisi takes the phone from her gently.
“I’ve got it,” he says. “We’ll get one car. All of us.”
Chulumanco looks up at me. Eyes glassy, happy. “We’re drunk.”
I smile. “I can see that.”
She leans into my side, cheek against my shoulder. “You drank too.”
“Someone had to match you,” I say.
She hums. “My responsible man.”
I kiss the top of her head. “Not tonight.”
The Uber arrives fast. Black SUV. We pile in. Monwabisi and Zinzi in the middle row, giggling, me in the back with Chulumanco. She immediately curls into me, head on my chest, hand resting on my thigh. Zinzi is telling some story about a guy who tried to dance with her earlier.
The drive is quick. Chulumanco’s fingers trace lazy circles on my leg. I cover her hand with mine, hold it still. She sighs against my shirt, content.
When we pull into the estate the gate slides open. The house is dark except for the porch light and the soft glow from the living room. Lindiwe is inside with Kungawo. They should both be asleep by now.
We climb out. I tip the driver, thank him. Zinzi stumbles a little getting out. Monwabisi catches her elbow, steady.
“Easy,” he says.
She looks up at him, eyes wide and soft. “Thanks.”
He doesn’t let go right away.
I clear my throat. “Keep it down when we get inside. Kungawo and Lindiwe are sleeping.”
Chulumanco nods, suddenly serious. “Right. Quiet.”
We walk up the path. I unlock the door. The house is silent except for the low hum of the fridge. I flick on the hallway light—dim, just enough.
Chulumanco turns to me. “We’re going to bed,” she says to Zinzi and Monwabisi. “You two okay out here?”
Zinzi waves her off. “We’re fine. Go. Sleep.”
Monwabisi nods. “Night.”
I take Chulumanco’s hand. We walk down the hall to our bedroom. I close the door softly behind us.
She turns to me immediately. Eyes still bright from the alcohol, cheeks flushed. She reaches up, fingers curling into my shirt, pulls me down.
I kiss her. Slow at first. Then deeper. Her hands slide under my T-shirt, nails grazing my back. I groan into her mouth.
I walk her backwards until her legs hit the bed. She sits. I kneel in front of her, hands on her thighs, pushing the hem of her dress up.
She watches me. Breathing fast.
I slide her underwea@r to the side. Slip one finger inside her. She’s wet. Ready. She whimpers, hips lifting toward my hand.
I add a second finger. Sl0w str0kes. Her head falls back, mouth open. I watch her face—eyes closed, lips parted, small sounds spilling out every time I curl my fingers.
“Mesuli…”
I lean in. Ki$$ the inside of her thigh. Then higher. My mouth finds her. T0ngue flat, then circling her clIt. She m0ans louder, hand flying to my hair, gripping tight.
I keep going. Steady rhythm. Fingers inside, t0ngue outside. Her thighs start to shake. Her m0ans turn into my name, over and over.
“Mesuli… please…”
I don’t stop. She c0mes hard, back arching, thighs clamping ar0und my head. I keep my m0uth on her until she stops shaking.
When she relaxes I pull back. Ki$$ her thigh once more. Stand.
She looks at me, eyes heavy, lips swollen.
I undress fast. Shirt off, jeans off, boxers last. She watches every move. When I’m n@ked she reaches for me.
I climb onto the bed. She lies back. I settle be+ween her legs. Ki$$ her deep while I line myself up.
I push in slow. She’s together. Hot. Perfect.
She gasps. Nails digging into my shoulders.
“Fvck,” I breathe against her neck. “You feel so g00d.”
She wraps her legs ar0und me. “Move.”
I do. Slow at first. Then deeper. Harder. She meets every thrvst, hips rolling up, m0ans muffled against my shoulder.
I feel her tigh+ening again. I angle deeper, hitting the spot that makes her cry out.
“Mesuli—”
I ki$$ her to swallow the sound. Keep moving. Faster now. She c0mes again, clenching around me, pulling me over the edge with her.
I spiII inside her, gr0aning her name against her mouth.
We stay like that. Connected. Breathing hard.
I ki$$ her forehead. Her cheeks. Her lips.
I pull 0ut slowly. Reach for the wipes on the nightstand. Clean her gently. Clean myself. Toss the wipe in the bin.
She watches me the whole time, soft smile on her face.
I climb back into bed. Pull her against my chest. She curls into me, leg thrown over mine, hand resting on my heart.
“Night,” she whispers.
“Night, baby.”
I kiss her hair. Close my eyes.
She’s asleep in minutes.
I lie there a little longer, listening to her breathe, feeling her heartbeat against my side.
******
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