THE RISE OF TUMELO By Author’s Voice Chapter 13

THE RISE OF TUMELO
CHAPTER 13 [Sponsored by anonymous.]
NTHABISENG
I’m absolutely elated, Tshepo asked for my number this morning and said he’ll take me out on a date next week Friday. It’s 9pm and I’ve just stepped out of the shower, feeling refreshed but slightly tired from the day’s events. The warm water had done wonders for my muscles, loosening the knots in my shoulders and legs, but my feet still ache from all the walking we did at the mall with Boi. Tshepo said I should call him before bed, and to be honest, I’m craving the sound of his deep voice, it’s like a gentle caress that sends shivers down my spine.
I dial his number, but it goes unanswered, and for a moment, I’m hit with a pang of uncertainty. Did I misread the situation? Was he just being polite? I sigh and try again, wondering if he’s busy or just not picking up. As I’m about to hang up, he answers, his voice low and smooth, like honey poured into a cup. “Nthabiseng,” he says, calling me by my full name despite my insistence on Nthabi, it’s a quirk that I find endearing, a gentle reminder that he’s paying attention to the details.
“Hey,” I reply, already giggling like a schoolgirl, my heart skipping a beat as I try to sound casual.
“How was your day?” he asks, and I let out a sigh as memories of the day’s chaos flood my mind. I blame Boi, she’s the one who knows we refill our groceries every week, yet she spent a whopping R3500 on a week’s worth of groceries, I’m still fuming about it, to be honest. My legs are still aching from all the walking we did at the mall, and I’m starting to think she has a secret love affair with the sales staff, the way she was haggling over prices like a pro.
“Exhausting, and yours?” I reply, honestly tired but trying to sound casual, like I’m not about to collapse onto my bed. “Fine, I’m actually happy that I met you. You’re beautiful, Nthabiseng,” he says, making me blush, my cheeks heating up like a summer breeze. I feel a flutter in my chest, and I’m not sure if it’s excitement or nerves, maybe a bit of both.
“Thank you,” I respond, thinking that he’s quite handsome himself, with those piercing eyes and that charming smile. If he’s genuinely interested in me, I’ll have to reevaluate my priorities and ditch the underground gigs I’ve been doing, it’s not like I’m enjoying the late nights and questionable company, anyway. He seems like someone who can provide for me, and I’m not about to, I’ll have to play my cards right and make him think I’m worth the investment.
“So, there’s no man in your life? I really don’t like sharing,” he says, his voice laced with a hint of possessiveness, it’s a bit too soon for that, but I suppose it’s flattering, in a way.
“No, there’s no man,” I reply truthfully, my peers are all broke, but older men who could be my father have always been generous to me, they’re married, living in their own homes with their families, but they pay my bills, and I’m not about to complain, it’s a small price to pay for financial security.
I’m intrigued by Tshepo, and I can’t help but wonder where this might lead, maybe a relationship, maybe something more, who knows? But for now, I’ll just enjoy the ride and see where it takes me.
“Mmh, good. So I’ll see you next week on our date night?” He asks , really doesn’t he want to see me sooner? Why not tomorrow? I mean, we’ve just started talking, and he’s already planning a date for next week? It feels like an eternity.
“Nthabi, come on, I’m a busy man,” he adds, like he can sense my disappointment. I guess he thinks I’m hurt and already sulking.
“You can’t be that busy that you won’t see me the whole week,” I say, my tone a bit sharper than intended. Yes, I know he’s a busy man, but shouldn’t I be a priority? It’s not like I’m asking for much, just a little time. A simple coffee date or a walk in the park would suffice. Is that too much to ask?
“Really? You’re a busy man that can’t even spare me some time?” I add, my anger simmering just below the surface. I’m pissed, and it’s showing in my voice. My heart’s racing, and my mind’s racing even faster. What’s going on here? Is he playing me? Does he not feel the same way?
“No, babe, it’s nothing like that,” he says, his voice soothing, like a gentle breeze on a summer day. “I run some companies, and I always have to check on them. We have many clients and meetings this week, the schedule’s tight.” He explains, and I swear, my smile just reached my ears. Did he just say he’s running companies? I feel a flutter in my chest, and my mind’s racing with possibilities.
“What companies?” I ask, my curiosity piqued, my eagerness to know evident in my voice. He chuckles, like he knows he’s got me hooked. I can almost hear the smile in his voice, and it sends shivers down my spine.
“Security and construction,” he says, and I’m off the bed, jumping up and down in excitement.
“Ohh, that’s nice,” I squeal, thinking, “Hell yeah, he can afford me.” I start imagining all the things we can do together, the places we can go, the things we can buy. My mind’s a whirlwind of possibilities.
“Mmh, look, let me finish up my work, I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says, and I settle back onto the bed, a smile still plastered on my face. I’m feeling gappy, like I’ve just eaten a whole box of chocolates, and now I’m in a sugar coma.
“Alright, bye Tshepo,” I say, trying to sound casual, but really, I’m beaming with excitement.
“I love you,” he says, and my heart skips a beat. It’s like the whole world has come to a standstill, and all that’s left is the two of us, suspended in time.
“I love you more,” I reply, hearing him chuckle before he hangs up. I’m relieved, like a weight’s been lifted off my shoulders. Things are looking up for me, and I can’t wait to see what the future holds.
–––
ITUMELENG
The morning light creeps into Tumelo’s bedroom, casting a pale glow over the space. It’s 5am, and I’m awake, despite having slept late the night before. I stretch my arms, feeling a bit stiff from the uncomfortable sleep, and wonder if Tumelo came back and slept in the guest room, or if he’s still out there, stewing over our argument.
I’m wearing one of his oversized shirts, and it smells like him – a mix of cologne and fresh laundry that’s been worn and loved. The soft fabric brushes against my skin as I move, and I feel a pang of guilt for wearing it, like I’m somehow invading his personal space.
I pad into the bathroom, my feet quiet on the tile floor, and wash my face, letting the cool water wake me up. I brush my teeth, feeling a bit weird about still being in Tumelo’s bedroom, surrounded by his things. I must have hurt him with my words yesterday, and the thought is eating away at me. As I walk out, I check the guest room, but it’s empty and neatly made, the bed untouched. The lounge and kitchen are quiet too, the silence oppressive.
I step outside, scanning the surroundings, but he’s nowhere to be seen, and his car’s gone. I sigh, feeling a pang of hurt and guilt. He must be really upset if he’s not even home. The morning air is crisp, and I shiver, wrapping my arms around myself.
I head back in, wash my clothes, and hang them to dry, the rhythmic motion soothing my frazzled nerves. As I make breakfast, the silence is oppressive, and my mind’s a mess. Maybe I should try calling him. I tap his number, my heart racing as it rings. He answers, but doesn’t say a word.
“Hi,” I say, my voice shaking like a leaf. “Mhh,” he replies, his tone unreadable. Really? ‘Mhh’? Is he serious? I feel a flutter in my chest, and my mind’s racing with worst-case scenarios.
“Where are you? You didn’t come back last night,” I ask, sounding like a worried wife, my voice a bit shrish. I pace around the kitchen, my eyes fixed on the clock.
“Not far,” he says, testing me, his voice low and smooth.
“That’s not what I asked,” I snap, my anxiety turning to frustration. I didn’t sleep well because of him, and now he’s playing games.
“I booked in a nearby hotel,” he says, like it’s no big deal. Wow, so he wasted his money on a hotel when he has a perfectly good apartment and a huge, comfy bed?
“How many minutes will it take for you to get here?” I ask, my tone softer, my anger dissipating. As much as I get scared around him, I sometimes miss him, and the thought of him being alone in a hotel room is unbearable.
“15 minutes,” he says, and I can tell he’s still in bed, his voice husky with sleep.
“Alright, I want you back here in 20 minutes,” I say, hanging up before he can respond, my heart racing with anticipation. I let out a huge sigh, feeling a mix of relief and anxiety. He’s okay, and he’ll be back soon. If something had happened to him, it would’ve been my fault.
Just as I finish hanging up, a knock comes through. It can’t be him, or he was hiding somewhere nearby? I get to the door and open it, and I’m met by a woman who seems to be in her 50s, elegant and poised, with a hint of concern etched on her face. She looks at me with confusion written all over her face, her eyes scanning me from head to toe, taking in my disheveled appearance and the oversized shirt I’m wearing – Tumelo’s shirt.
“Hi, can I help you?” I’m confused, I thought everyone was scared of Tumelo and that he doesn’t get visitors. The woman’s gaze lingers on me for a moment, and I feel a flutter of unease, like I’m being sized up.
“Hi, who are you?” She seems as confused as I am, her voice warm and gentle, but with an undercurrent of curiosity.
“Itumeleng,” I say, feeling a bit self-conscious about my attire – or lack thereof – wearing Tumelo’s oversized shirt, which is now feeling a bit too intimate.
“What are you doing here? Are you Tumelo’s new maid?” She asks, and I feel a spark of surprise. Am I? I glance down at myself, taking in the shirt and my bare legs, and a flush rises to my cheeks. “I don’t think so Ma, I’m here because he wants me here,” I say, trying to sound confident, but my voice comes out a bit shaky.
A small smile flashes on her face, and for a moment, I see a glimpse of Tumelo’s features in her. “Nice to meet you Itumeleng, I’m Boitumelo. Tumelo’s mother,” she says, and I swear my heart just skipped a beat. Oh no, this is awkward. I’m standing here, wearing her son’s shirt, and looking like I’ve just rolled out of bed.
“Ohh sorry,” I say, quickly stepping aside, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over me.
“It’s alright, I’m not here to stay, I’ve been trying to reach Tumelo but his phone is not going through. It’s unlike him, is he here?” She looks worried, and I feel a pang of guilt, mixed with a dash of anxiety.
Slowly, I shake my head. “No, he went out yesterday and said there are few things he wants to take care of,” I lie, and I hate that I’m lying to his mother. But what else can I say?
“Alright, please tell him to call soon as he comes back,” she says, her voice firm but gentle, and I nod, feeling like I’m being dismissed.
“Please accompany me to my car,” she says, and I nod, following her to her car, feeling a bit like I’m in a dream. The morning air is still crisp, and I shiver slightly as we walk, the sound of our footsteps echoing off the buildings.
Lord, she’s driving a whole Bentley? The sleek, black vehicle gleams in the morning light, and I can’t help but feel a bit intimidated. The car’s door opens with a soft whoosh, and she turns to me, her eyes searching mine.
“Itumeleng, I know there’s more between you and my son. I don’t know what it is, but you two do, please be patient and easy on him. He’s still healing from a lot of things,” she says, her voice low and serious, and I feel a surge of curiosity. What things? What’s going on with Tumelo? Her eyes seem to bore into my soul, like she’s trying to convey a message that’s not being spoken aloud.
She flashes a weak smile before stepping into her car. “I trust you, bye, take care,” she says, closing the door, starting the engine, and driving off, leaving me confused and a bit overwhelmed.
–––
I slowly open my eyes when someone shakes me gently on the couch, it’s Tumelo. He’s holding a gift bag and… flowers? What the hell? I’m still groggy from sleep, and my mind’s trying to catch up with my surroundings. The morning light filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room, and I feel a bit disoriented.
“Hey,” I say, sitting straight, trying to shake off the sleep. Tumelo sits next to me on the two-seater couch, his proximity making me feel a bit self-conscious. He’s so close that I can smell his cologne, and it sends a shiver down my spine.
“You took forever,” I say, checking the time, it’s 9am. The clock on the wall seems to be ticking louder than usual, and I feel a bit anxious, wondering what he’s been up to.
“Sorry, I got a call from my mother. I passed by her house,” he says, handing me the flowers and the gift bag. The flowers are a vibrant mix of colors, and the gift bag looks expensive, with a subtle logo on the side. “Sorry for being late,” he says, his eyes locking onto mine, making me feel like I’m the only person in the world.
A smile involuntary forms on my face, “It’s alright, thanks for this.” I’ve never received flowers in my entire life. I wonder what got him so sweet, but I don’t ask. I’ll check what’s in the bag later, I place everything aside and look at him, my mind still processing the morning’s events.
As I glance at him, I notice the faint stubble on his jaw, and my heart skips a beat. He’s really looking at me, like he’s trying to see into my soul. I feel a flutter in my chest, and my hands start to sweat.
“Are you even aware that I didn’t sleep well last night because of you?” I ask, trying to sound casual, but my voice comes out a bit husky. He just looks at me, his expression unreadable, and says nothing. His silence is unnerving, and I start to feel like I’m trapped in a bubble.
“Look, I am sorry about what I said yesterday, I swear I didn’t mean it. I was just nervous because I was half naked and I asked you to give me some privacy but you didn’t listen,” I say, the words tumbling out of me, my heart racing with the memory of the previous night. I’m reliving the embarrassment, and my face starts to heat up.
He sighs, rubbing his head, his eyes closing for a moment. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Itumeleng. I enjoy being around you. I love it when you’re next to me, again, I’m sorry, that was creepy of me, but I love your body. Everything about you makes me want to touch, kiss you, but… but…” He sighs and faces the floor, his voice trailing off, leaving me dumbfounded.
I’m speechless, my mind racing with his words. He loves my body? He wants to touch, kiss me? The thoughts send a shiver down my spine. He looks up, his eyes searching mine, and for a moment, we just stare at each other, the tension between us palpable.
His eyes are a deep brown, with flecks of gold, and I feel like I’m drowning in them. My heart’s racing, and my breath’s caught in my throat. I don’t know what to say or do, so I just sit there, frozen, as he waits for me to respond.
He’s silent, as if he regrets saying everything he just said, and I’m not sure what to do next. The air is thick with unspoken emotions, and I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, unsure whether to jump or step back.
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