NURSE THEMBENI
CHAPTER 12
THEMBENI
This is not the same man I was with last night. The same man who told me all those sweet nothings and made me believe he would move mountains just to have me. I should go, storm out like the queen he keeps calling me, call another cab, and let this whole mess fade.
“Sorry I bothered you.” I tell him and turn to leave.
“If I had a choice, I would ask you to choose me. I want you to choose me, but even if you do… we can’t be together.”
Excuse me? I spin around so fast my scrubs almost give me whiplash.
“What fresh nonsense is this? You literally just begged me to pick you over five million rand like I’m supposed to swoon, and now you’re hitting me with ‘but we can’t’? Mehlo, pick a struggle and stick to it. I’m not here for your games, this is not the kind of problems I need in my life.”
He exhales and for one glorious second his mask slips, his eyes widen, he looks terrified, like he just realized the floor is lava and he’s standing in it barefoot. Then bam, out of nowhere, ice mode activated, arms crossed, jaw set. Classic Mehlo shutdown.
Yoh, I hate this version of him. The one who looks at me like I’m a stranger who wandered in off the street asking for directions to his feelings.
“I hate it when you do this,” I snap, stepping right into his space because personal boundaries are apparently optional tonight. “One minute you’re hugging me as if I’m your last breath, the next you’re colder than a fridge in winter. Why do you lock up every time things get real? How am I supposed to read your mind when you won’t even give me the bloody user manual? Spit it out, Mehlo. I’m not a mind reader and I’m definitely not patient.”
He looks at me and for a beat I think he might crack. But no
“It’s better you don’t know anything, Thembeni. But I need you to listen to me. Stay away from the Hlongwanes, anything that has to do with them, including me.”
“You’re suddenly part of the Hlongwanes now? What do you have to do with them? Speak, Mehlo, because this is starting to sound like a family feud I didn’t sign up for.”
“It is a family feud and it’s safer you don’t know anything. Whatever you do, don’t accept that marriage.” He says.
That’s it. That’s all he gives me. I need more than that, I am not a child to be told don’t touch the stove, it’s hot. I need to know why it’s hot, if I can turn the heat down.
“R5 million rand was offered to me. Five. Million. Rand. Do you understand what that means? A soft life bundled into one neat number, and you’re telling me to walk away? Just like that? Mehlo, be serious. Did you inhale something before I arrived? Because this sounds insane.”
He exhales, he looks tired, irritated, scared. I can’t tell which one is winning.
“I know it’s a lot of money, but that old man does not have it. Ngiyabonga is not going to pay you a cent, Thembeni.”
That shakes me, I did think about the Hlongwanes not being that liquid. They have land, history, respect. Not stacks of cash lying around, but the certainty in his voice unsettles me. He is not guessing, neither is he speculating, he knows something.
“How do you even know Ngiyabonga?” I ask.
“If you want answers about Ngiyabonga, ask your father.”
My father? Now I’m irritated. My dad avoids drama the way other people avoid debt. What could he possibly have to do with Ngiyabonga? He didn’t even consent to this marriage arrangement. Before I can press him, the front door opens and in walk his parents.
Wonderful! Exactly what this tense little moment needed. This is what I get for visiting unannounced.
“Thembeni!” his mother smiles, rushing toward me.
She wraps her arms around me before I can react. I freeze for half a second, then hug her back. It has been a while since anyone held me without expecting something in return. I did not realise how badly I needed that.
His father steps in behind her.
“Sawubona, KaMajola. How are you?”
“I’m fine, baba. How are you?”
He greets me warmly, then looks at Mehlo. Something passes between them, a whole conversation without words. Mehlo exhales and looks away. I am officially uncomfortable.
“You must stay for supper,” Ma insists.
“I would love to, but my parents are expecting me,” I lie. There is no way I can sit at a dinner table pretending everything is normal.
“Oh! How is Bab’ Mpondo?” his father asks brightly, a smile on his face.
You’d think they are friends who were hanging out this morning.
“How do you know my father’s name?”
His wife and Mehlo both look at him. There is a flicker of panic there, he realises he has said too much and mutters something under his breath. Then he smiles, washing away the panic.
“We grew up together in Manzana. Your father was a good friend of mine, tell him Zanemvula says hello.”
I’m definitely not going to call him by name. My father would kill me.
He looks at his son once more, before heading to the couch and sits down, as if he did not just rearrange my entire understanding of my family history. So my quiet, stay-out-of-trouble father has connections. Old ones, deep ones, and nobody thought to mention this to me?
Ma squeezes my hand gently.
“Our driver will take you home, it’s late.”
I nod gratefully. My thoughts are scattered, nothing is aligning. Mehlo walks me outside, without saying a word. He opens the car door for me and tells the driver where to take me.
“There are bumps on the road, drive carefully.” He says to the driver,.
“I’m not a child, he can speed, I will arrive with all my teeth in place.” I tell Mehlo.
He’s still holding my door open as he looks at me, a small smile plays on his face.
“So this is goodbye? For real?” I ask, he said he won’t chase me and I won’t chase him either.
His jaw shifts. I see something in his eyes that he is trying very hard to hide. It hurts him to do this, that much is clear. Then the mask slides back into place, he’s distant again.
He pulls me into a hug, his heart is beating fast. I can feel it against my chest. Mine responds immediately, which is embarrassing. I should not be syncing heartbeats with a man who just told me to abandon five million rand.
“Goodbye, phakade lami,” he whispers.
Why is my throat burning? He holds me a second longer than necessary, then lets go slowly, his hands trailing down my arms, then shuts the door and steps back.
He watches the car drive away, and yet he is the one sending me away. What is going on? I never planned a future with Mehlo. He was supposed to be temporary, but that hug was not temporary, that fear in his eyes was not fake.
Now my mind will not rest. If he does not care, why does he look destroyed? If he is lying, why does this feel like the only truth I have heard tonight?
And why does “don’t marry him” sound less like control and more like protection?
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GOLIDE/MEHLOKAZULU
I stand in the driveway long after the car disappears. I told myself I wouldn’t watch her leave, but I did. My hands are shoved into my pockets because they won’t stop shaking.
I hate that she might have seen that. I just told the only woman I care about to walk away from me and she listened. I feel weak for letting her go, but it’s for the best. Keeping her would get her killed. In my world, loving someone is dangerous.
I walk back inside.
Mom’s sipping tea, Dad flipping through some old book. They look up as I drop onto the couch opposite them, trying to act like my world’s not crumbling.
Mom sets her cup down.
“Mehlo, why did KaMajola look so upset when we got here? What happened?”
I lean back on the couch, staring at the floor to avoid their gazes.
“I told her I won’t fight for her.”
Dad’s book snaps shut.
“Why would you do that?” He’s always ready to shout.
“I saw Menzi today, he had come to visit KaMajola. Seeing him hit me Baba, it reminded me of the past. Of why I stayed away from this place. None of this is worth anyone losing their life. Especially not her, it’s not worth me losing KaMajola to death.”
Dad’s brows furrow, he sees where I’m taking this and it’s not something he wants to hear.
“Mehlo, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’m pushing KaMajola away, for good. I’ll make sure she doesn’t get involved with this family.”
His nose flare.
“Are you letting Menzi win? You’re letting Ngiyabonga win?”
The names alone make my blood run hot and cold at the same time. Ngiyabonga, that snake. I shake my head, trying to shake off the memories flooding in uninvited… flashes of fire, screams, the smell of smoke that still chokes me in my nightmares.
“When I saw Menzi today, everything came back. I didn’t think it’d trigger me like that. The past… it all rushed in.”
I didn’t argue when he said he’s taking her to work, I wasn’t strong enough to be around her. I couldn’t crumble in front of her.
“I can’t do this anymore. I knew it was a bad idea from the start, Baba. Why do you think I kept KaMajola a secret all these months? Why do you think it took me forever to introduce her to you? No one in this family is safe. We’re cursed, I can’t let her be part of that.”
Mom’s hand goes to her mouth, they didn’t expect this after I agreed to fight for what belongs to our family. That damn throne.
“But she’s the key, Mehlo. The key to us getting the throne back.” My father says.
“I don’t want it, Baba. I’d rather lose her and know she’s alive somewhere, breathing, than have her six feet underground because of me. I’m not risking KaMajola’s life for a throne. Ever.”
“It’s not just a throne!” He barks, slamming a fist on the armrest of the couch. “It’s your birthright, Mehlokazulu. Your forefathers want you back on that throne. It’s what we came back for!”
“What will happen then? Will they be able to protect me? Will they protect my queen?”
“Yes! Why not?” He says.
I feel rage bubbling up from that dark place I’ve buried for years.
“Like they protected my parents and my siblings?” I ask.
The room goes silent as I expected. Mom and Dad exchange a look, they know exactly what storm I’ve just unleashed. Dad opens his mouth, but I cut him off.
“No, Baba. Don’t. I’m an orphan because of that throne. Innocent people died because of it. Burned alive for power they never asked for.”
“You are not an orphan, Mehlo. We are here, we’ve always been here for you.” Mom says.
“But you’re not my real parents, you’re my uncle and aunt. You took me in, yeah, and I love you for it, but let’s not pretend. My real parents were killed because of this throne you so desperately want.”
The hurt flashes across their faces, we swore never to speak about this again. I hate myself for bringing up the past, but the truth is a blade I’ve carried too long. It cuts everyone, including me.
“These forefathers you speak of, Baba, failed to protect your brother, his wife and kids. They let my little brothers die, they were just kids. Why did they have to burn like that? Why did the ancestors let them scream in the flames while I watched?”
The memories crash over me, wave after wave. It happened twenty years ago, but it feels like yesterday. The house was engulfed in orange hellfire. I can still hear my mother’s desperate screams, my father’s shouts turning to gurgles.
My brothers screaming for their mother who was right there with them. I was in the other room, hidden in the corner, choking on smoke, screaming for them. I didn’t expect Bab’ Mpondo to burst in and drag me out of the house. For years, I hated him for saving me while my family died. I hated myself for surviving the fire.
My knees buckle. I drop back to the carpet. My hands… why are they trembling? I stare at them as if they’re not mine.
My breath comes in short gasps, my chest’s squeezing tighter and tighter. Air… Where’s the air? I can’t breathe, the smoke is back, filling my lungs, choking me. My vision blurs, I see flames dancing at the edges. I hear the screams again.
“Bring water!” Dad shouts, his voice is distant, but I can hear the panic in it.
“Mehlo.” Small hands cup my face.
I blink to see my mother kneeling in front of me, she grabs my trembling hands, but they won’t stop shaking.
“Mehlo, breathe. Look at me. Breathe.”
I try. God, I try. But my chest is a closing in, crushing. I’m breathing, but it’s short, ragged breaths that do nothing to help me. My heart is pounding as if it’s trying to escape, slamming against my ribs.
It’s suddenly hot in here, the fire’s inside me now, burning everything. My mother’s fanning me with the cushion. Tears sting my eyes. Why now? Why after all these years? Seeing Menzi has opened the floodgates.
Dad’s hands fumble at my golf shirt, unbuttoning it fast. I rip it off.
“Breathe, son. In and out. Slow. You’re here, you’re safe.” He keeps repeating.
Safe? The word mocks me. No one’s safe, not with that throne hanging over us like a curse. My head spins, black spots dancing around my eyes. I can barely see what’s happening around me, I’m suck in the past. I gasp, clutch at Mom’s hands.
“Can’t… breathe…”
“Mvula, do something.” She calls for her husband.
A minute into my panic, the smell of incense hits my nose.
“Ngwane. Masumpa. Masenga sileka.” My father’s reciting our clan names, the surname I swore never to use again.
Why is he calling those people? They don’t care about us, they let my family die. I cover my ears, I don’t want them helping me. I would rather die.
My mother tries to hold my hands apart.
“Mehlo please… please don’t do this.” She’s crying, begging me to listen to the names of the same ancestors who failed to protect their king.
“Drink son,” Mom says, pressing a glass of water to my lips. I gulp it down, my father has stopped. The tightness in my chest starts to loosen, one breath at a time, the flames fade but the pain lingers, deep in my bones.
I slump back on the couch, exhausted. Mom’s still holding my hands, tears on her cheeks. Dad’s face is pale, he looks worried.
The throne can burn for all I care. I’ve lost enough to fire already.
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