A BRIDE FOR HIRE Novel Chapter 8

Bungobakho ‘Mr X’

He’s sitting on the chair in the far end of his bedroom, his hands rubbing together before his face as he watches her sleeping.

She could have ended her life today all because of him, he hates this side of him – the side that can’t get it together and stick to his word.

Lord, she’s only 26 years old, her whole life still waiting to be explored and it could have ended in a flash tonight because of him. He can’t get that out of his head, no matter how many times MaNgcobo tries to steer it out of his head.

“Will you be like this whole night?” her hands sit above her waist.

He called her here after catching Nqobile on a ledge of the bridge ready to swing herself over. The most traumatic image his mind has ever processed.

If they had been even a minute short, they could have lost her forever, over what? One slap he gave Beauty?

Surely she didn’t come with the truth to her daddy, his father would have never spun such drama from something so miniscule.

But what did she say? What lie did she fabricate this time around?

“You have to stop being hard on yourself, Bakho.”

“I’m failing her, Sibahle. I’m failing the woman who hasn’t been failing me. Most of the time I always know what’s best, my instincts form natural to my relationships but with her – I just can’t get anything right.” He’s stuck for once in his life, there is no answer that he can come up with. No solution.

“Why did I start this, MaNgcobo?” Bakho blows into his hands and holds onto his cheeks, his fingertips turn red from being pressed against his jaw.

“You know why we did this. You can’t do it alone, Bungobakho. You can’t hold your siblings on your own and still hold yourself as well, you need someone that can take care of you too. Someone who can be the one aspect of your life that doesn’t require you to fight the demons of this family’s history. Perhaps we were wrong to think Nqobile could be that for you but that doesn’t change the fact that you need someone.” This is also her own little way of telling him she can’t do things on her own anymore, the cross this family bares is too heavy for her to carry alone.

The madams of the other brothers barely give a shit about the man their husbands and boyfriends look up to as a paternal figure. Myalezo for instance was taken by Bungobakho to raise and foster until he could stand on his own two feet and yet his father, Bab’omdala has never once uttered the word ‘thank you’ to him.

Minenhle would have been a junkie for life, Baba had already given up on him yet Bungobakho refused to do so. Sure he punched him a couple of times, some days landed him in hospital but in the end Minenhle walked away from that life alive.

Their sisters weren’t allowed to continue tertiary because Bab’omdala’s ideology of a woman begins in the kitchen and ends in the bedroom. Bakho fought for the girls to be their own independent women, he went as further as assisting Kholeka run her business from the ground up.

He has always been a guardian angel to his siblings even before he knew the difference between Mzwakhelwe and him. He was the mistake his father should have never committed in his marriage and Mzwakhelwe wasn’t.

He’s 40 years old and still pouring from an empty cup, he’ll collapse one day and MaNgcobo is here to make sure that day doesn’t come sooner than they’re prepared for.

Bakho cranes his neck, letting it hang back as he runs his hands over his face. Sometimes the pressure doesn’t settle in until the adrenaline is over. When there is nothing else to motivate him but the probability of losing all they have managed to be as a brothers. The girls aren’t so much of a problem anymore, they’ve found good men, whom he still keeps an eye on but they’re happy and living healthy lives. The main problem is the bunch in his living room right now.

His fathers hate him today mainly because of the role he assumed in his brothers’ lives not to mention the respect he gained from them for it. In his fathers’ eyes, that’s an insult to them.

“I hate lying to her, and I watching her fall apart in my hands MaNgcobo. It’s dangerous to sustain lies, Fuzelihle.” Maybe he avoids Nqobile for that reason, the fear of eventually saying enough is enough and spilling every bean in the bag.

Sibahle places her hand over his shoulder and rubs him gently, “We can’t afford her knowing everything so soon. You’ve seen the damage it causes, give her some time. In the meantime try to be home more frequently and make conversation.”

“Like what, MaNgcobo?”

“I don’t know, world peace or her family history. You have to offer her your hand as well, you can see she’s heavily burdened so lend her your ear or something.” She giggles at his tensed up muscles.

Phew boy! There is a long way to go over here.

“Changing Makabongwe’s diapers was easier than maintaining a relationship nowadays, I could never do it.” Yes he has tried before, numerous times and none of those attempts made it past the talking stage. He just has no time.

“Of course you can, they are grown men now Bakho. They can handle life on their own.”

“Not all of them, Makabongwe is becoming a problem. I think whoever introduced him to street cred created problem for us. Sosha is still a lose canon and bab’ommcane has given up on talking sense to him.” He pinches his nose bridge.

This family has too much potential to let it all slide over minor tensions. Bit by bit he has watched the Ximbas chip away from that unity there once was. Seeing that is the worst thing to chug down, once all is said and done this family name will be carried to greatness. He bets his life on it.

“Im just saying, maybe stop looking at Nqobile as an arrangement bhuti and start forming something with her. Something meaningful.”

Bakho curtly shakes his head, “She wouldn’t want anything to do with me for the rest of her life.”

“Have faith in yourself, you managed to keep a crumbling home together for so long. You know what you’re doing way more than you give yourself credit for, Bhuti.” Or maybe she just gives him too much credit.

He doesn’t fight her on it though, just a low yet deeply felt ‘thank you Fuzelihle.’ As she exist the main bedroom.

What could it hurt to try? Absolutely nothing. If she rejects his attempts then so be it, and what if she doesn’t?

Deep sigh.

Finally, at about 01:46 am, four hours of being on this chair and starring at a woman sleep. He decides it’s time to call it a night. On his way to the door, Bakho stops on his tracks.

She didn’t just call his name out did she? It must be the sleeping tablets he made her drink.

“Mr X, come to bed, please. I don’t want to feel alone right now.” Her voice sounds dripped in slumber, he hears the covers shuffle.

And her feet squeaking on the wooden floors ignite the heat his body long abandoned. It’s not the sexual fire, but something else, far dangerous and distracting. Attraction.

“Come, we’ll do our Ted talks in the morning.” She yawns and carries pulling him to his own bed.

This isn’t right, it’ll be like taking advantage of her – for the second time.

“I can sit on the chair and watch you if you’re scared, Sobahle.” This is a next level jump scare for him.

“No! I want you where I can feel you… so you don’t wake up and leave me in the morning. I wasn’t you know… thinking of adult stuff or anything.” She quickly corrects herself.

Nqobile removes the covers and lays him on the bed, lifting his legs up for him and pushing him away from the edge of the bed while at it because the man has turned into a statue out of the blue.

“You are so tall, you need a bigger bed you know Mr X.” she goes around the bed and throws herself on it as well, then covers the both of them up.

“You don’t have to act brave, Sobahle. I know you’re hurting.”

He’s still a log beside her, his back turned on her.

The room is quiet for some time, he even concludes that he won’t get a response, maybe the wound is still fresh.

Lo and behold, he thought wrong.

“A wise witch once said to me, if there is nothing you are going to do about something you’re complaining about, then don’t complain at all. And I agree with her, I never thought I ever would but it’s true. So allow me to just make the best of what I’m given.” She clings on his arm and rests her head on his chest.

Sweat trickles around his neck.

It’s just a girl, Bakho! It’s just a girl!

>

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Nqobile.

The bed is empty, besides me and the scent of the century, there’s nothing else on this bed. I thought we made a deal, that we were finally going to have one peaceful day!

My lips start trembling, I’m no longer burying my emotions. If I feel hurt, I will cry. If I’m angry then I will scream, anything to avoid what almost happened yesterday. My heart had taken too much, I was going feral. Nothing seemed to make sense except ‘I’ve carried more than enough’ – the emotions just boiled out of the blue. And weirdly, I don’t recall what happened once I got to the bridge.

There’s some shuffling coming from the bathroom joint with the bedroom, a shower?

I get off the bed and walk over there to see who that is, although I have an idea.

“Good morning, Sobahle.”

Good morning indeed! I’ve never seen him bare, only a towel is wrapped around his lower body.

His abs aren’t that visible, his chest carries the muscle tone of his arms and broad shoulders. He’s sexier than I pictured him to be.

My brain wakes up to him already standing toe to toe with me, I’m thinking he’s gonna push me aside like the pest that I am. No, you know what he does? This man places his hands on my shoulders and presses his lips on my forehead.

“How are you feeling this morning? If you need therapeutic assistance, let me know and I will have a word with Doctor Shaker.” Why is he acting weird this morning?

“I will get better as the day goes, still, thank you for offering me a helping hand.”

I wonder if we are going to talk about yesterday, for my sake I really wanted to. Just to get that out of my way and know it won’t ever be an issue for me.

“I had made reservations for the whole family last night, to finally introduce you as my wife. What happened, has happened but the restaurant owner still has the booking open for us. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to …”

“Yes.” I speed up to it.

I’ve been waiting for this for two whole days!

Damn bitch, you’ve only been here for two days? How is that even possible? It feels like I’ve known Xolani for a good week or two.

He looks nerved. Wasn’t he expecting a yes?

… Oh! That?

“I apologize for ukungena emlomeni.” I forgot it was his pet peeve. But at some point he has to tell me these things so I’m fully aware which boundaries aren’t to be crossed.

“MaNgcobo will assist you in getting ready.” He says.

I nod, my neck starting to feel a little painful from staring up like this because he’s so close to me. My hands are literally hunched on his muscles, it’s hilarious because I was one of those village girls who used to think men with amadobolo (Muscled arms) are ridiculous.

Now not only does this one have amadobolo but he has grey hairs too. Zinhle needs to know about this, I’ll just breeze over the suicide bits. I really don’t understand what had gotten me to that point.

And if I tell my friend about that, she’d start hating Mr X for no apparent reason.

“Sobahle.” His lips tilt to one side a little bit.

“Huh?”

“Can I have my arms back? They can be yours once we have gotten ready.”

I drop my hands faster than I blink, oops.

That was embarrassing. I blame the shimmer of his skin, and the fresh smell coming from him.

“There’s one other thing I was meaning to give you yesterday, mami.” He says passing me and walking back inside the bedroom.

What did he just call me? I can’t help but do the kwasakwasa dance, it feels nice to be in this end of the bargain.

I like feeling like this.

“Whenever you are done with the Jika’maJika moves ma’am.”

Gosh!

Why am I so embarrassing!?

I calm myself down and discipline myself internally before turning around and following him to the bedside drawer.

He takes out a small net bag and lowers himself on the bed. There’s a box inside, red velvet box we all know right?

I still refuse to think it is what I think it is.

It can’t be right?

“Yesterday I came across a watch that I thought would look beautiful on you. That’s when I laid eyes on this, it made me realize it wouldn’t make sense to say ‘my wife’ if there is nothing to show for it. May I have your hand?” he opens his big palm to me.

Ain’t no fucken way!

I slide my hand on his palm, still struggling to remember which part of my body is responsible for breathing.

“Mami.” He tilts his head to the side, and a throaty chuckle comes after.

I look down. Ugh, I gave him the wrong hand!

“Sorry.” I mumble and bring the right one.

Is it engraved? It looks engraved, but I can’t see the writing.

It’s such a cute ring, a champagne Toi et Moi stack diamond and emerald cut.

“At least now I’ll twice about suicide huh?” I’d rather just sell the ring and live a good life in Paris.

“Nqobile, never do that again. If you can’t take being around here tell me, I wouldn’t stop you from leaving. Taking your life is not on the table, are we clear?”

I dribble my eyes and hope he didn’t see the eye roll.

“Yes Mr X.” I grab my ring box and walk out his bedroom to get ready in mine.

I need lunch with the girls for this bombshell. We haven’t caught up in a while.

MaNgcobo helped me tie up this dress from the back and the beautiful slick back on my head right now. She was about to lay make up on me when I called it quits, powders and things have never looked nice on my skin.

“Is that… is that what I think it is?” she comes towards the box I’ve left on the floor by mistake.

“I was going to put it on after getting ready, I don’t know which shoes to wear. I think I want us to match, what shoes do you think Mr X is wearing?”

An ear-piercing scream erupts in my room.

Woman!

“Askies, did he give this to you?” her eyes sparkling all of a sudden.

First off, that ring is nothing compared to her brick.

“Yes, this morning.”

“Wait, what did he say?” she’s too excited about this.

“Nothing special. Do you think he will be wearing sneakers?”

“Awwwwwe, look at the text?” okay, I don’t have energy for her anymore.

I leave her in the room squealing over the ring and head to Mr X’s bedroom again. It’s slightly open, I halt when I see him talking to someone else inside.

“I don’t need this right now, where is he? Get someone to fix it Kwame.” He looks stressed to the core.

“Nah bafo, I say we let him be for a days in the cell. Today is about our MaGoqo no one else. He’ll learn his lesson after this.” Kwame steps forward to fix his brother’s tie.

I see, Kwame is the waves guy. The one who walked out of my kitchen carrying a knife and my dishcloth.

Bakho and I’s eyes meet, he tenses almost immediately.

He’s seen me anyway, I may as well go inside. His brother gives me a full smile as he walks out and shuts the door behind him.

“I was wondering which shoes would look better?” Now I just feel stupid. This man is here stressing over serious things and I’m still stressing over shoes?.

“I like the red bottoms.” He says and brings me to the chair he sits on, lowers me down and gets on his knee.

What is he doing?

Bakho picks up my left foot and starts strapping the heel on my foot. What the heck are we doing? He does the same to the other foot.

“Bungobakho, what are we doing?” it’s a depressing whisper.

That fear that rises out of the blue, that hurt that invites itself even when not needed. All the things I can’t control.

“Making the best of what we have right now, that’s what a beautiful woman once told me anyway.” He places my feet back down and stands up.

His eyes don’t dwell on me, he doesn’t give off ‘searching your soul’ vibe but he’s intent with the moment, that’s the look he is giving me right now.

“My beautiful wife. I think I like that nickname better.”

I do too, I won’t tell him that though. What if some day I can’t handle being beautiful anymore and I return to being just an undesirable 50 cents?

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