THE RISE OF TUMELO
CHAPTER 03
ITUMELENG
I thought I’d die from eating that creepy man’s food, but I’m still here – alive, and weirdly, a little less scared. He’s such a weird, unnerving guy, and I still don’t understand why he’s keeping me locked up in this basement.
He comes down here like clockwork, three to five times a day, just to check up on me. He’ll sit in the corner, his eyes fixed on me like I’m some kind of puzzle he’s trying to solve, and stare for five agonizing minutes before leaving without a word.
The one silver lining is that he lets me shower – I guess even kidnappers have some semblance of humanity. But it’s freaking me out how I’m slowly starting to feel almost… comfortable here. I know I shouldn’t be – I mean, I’m kidnapped, for crying out loud! If he’s after money, he won’t get it; my mom doesn’t exactly swim in millions.
It’s been three days since I was dragged into this hellhole, and I have no idea when he’ll come back for the second time today. I want to scream at him, ask what he wants from me, because seriously, I have nothing and I haven’t wronged anyone since I arrived here.
The door handle turns, and my heart leaps into my throat. I scramble to my feet, my back plastered against the cold, damp wall. As usual, he pulls up a chair and sits down in the corner, his gaze settling on me like a weight.
“What do you want from me?” I demand, my voice a little stronger than I expected. But he’s not responding. Just sits there, watching me like I’m some kind of exhibit.
The door’s still open, and desperation kicks in. Maybe I can make a run for it. “What do you want from me? I don’t even know you. I’m new around here, you can’t just keep me prisoner and–” I don’t finish the sentence. I bolt out the door, my heart racing like crazy.
I’m not looking back, I yank the apartment door open and dash out into the hallway… and crash straight into a wall of muscle. My ass hits the ground hard, and I wail in pain. How did he get here so fast? He’s way too calm for my liking.
“Go back inside,” he says, his voice low and steady. I want to argue, but his tone alone is enough to freeze me. I swallow hard, scramble to my feet, and head back in. His footsteps follow me, and I hear the key turning in the lock. He’s not going to let me go anytime soon… or he’s planning something way worse.
“Sit on the couch,” he demands, his voice firm. I don’t dare question him. I sit, and he perches on the table next to me, his eyes locked on mine.
“Are you aware of how thirsty I am for your blood?” His question sends a chill down my spine.
My mouth goes dry. “I… I am sorry,” I whisper.
He chuckles, the sound sending shivers down my spine. “I asked you a question.” The neutral mask is gone, and what’s left is something primal, feral. No, there’s no way this man is normal. At this moment, because of the look in his eyes, I wish I could just vanish.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, my voice barely audible. I know I’ve poked a snake, and now I’m waiting for it to strike.
“Itumeleng, I’ll kill you slowly if you think this is a game of cat and mouse.” The words slice through the air, his voice low and lethal, as he rises from the couch like a predator unfurling. “I’m not going to chase you around. Be thankful I kept you untouched for 3 days.”
The implication hangs heavy – he’s been holding back, and I’m alive because of it. My vision blurs with tears as he looms over me, his eyes piercing, like he’s daring me to test him.
“Dare try escaping again, you’re dead.” The warning is cold, detached, and he turns to leave. The door to the other room, slightly ajar, swallows him whole. I collapse back onto the couch, tears streaming down my face, my mind a tornado of questions. What does this man want from me?
—
“HOURS LATER.”
I must’ve dozed off, because the next thing I know, I’m waking up in bed. My dress and panty are still on me, a small mercy that brings a flicker of relief. I sit up with a jolt, heart still racing, and that’s when I see him.
He’s leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, jaw clenched so tight it looks like it’ll shatter. A shiver runs down my spine. Did he see me checking myself? Oh God, I hope not.
“What were you thinking?” he growls, the words strained through gapped teeth. His eyes are black holes, sucking all the air out of the room.
“H… how did I get on the bed?” I stutter, trying to piece together the fragments. He’s still clenching those teeth, like he’s wrestling with something inside him.
“Stop… lying.” The warning is a growl, and I feel the temperature in the room drop.
“I… I…” My throat’s got a boulder stuck in it, and I can’t get the words out.
“Just say it, damnit! You thought I ra… touched you?” He’s shouting now, his voice a whip crack that makes me flinch. For the first time since I got here, he’s lost control, and it’s terrifying. I shrink back into the bed, eyes wide.
“No, I… I was just confused because last time I checked I was on the couch,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady, but it comes out shaky..
He stares at me for a long, agonizing minute, his chest heaving like he’s fighting for air. Then he turns and walks out, leaving me frozen in fear. The room feels emptier, the silence louder. What have I just done…
—
BOIPELO
I’m pacing in my room like a caged animal, anxiety gnawing at my insides with every tick of the clock. Each day that passes with no word on Itu is driving me insane. Her mom hasn’t called, and I’m not prepared to deal with the fallout when she finally realises her daughter’s gone missing.
How can Nthabi be so… unbothered? We had cameras at Coyotes – someone must’ve seen something that night. If Itu’s mom finds out she’s missing, the police will be all over this place, sniffing around, asking questions we don’t want to answer.
“Nthabi!” I burst into her room, my voice a harsh whisper that’s more like a plea. She’s standing in front of her mirror, a dress in each hand, expecting me to play fashion critic like I always do.
We’re supposed to hit Prestige tonight, dancing and drinking with rich guys to make a fat cut, but the thought of it makes my stomach churn. Not with Itu still out there, missing.
“Which dress should I wear?” she asks, a smile plastered on her face, like the world isn’t hanging by a thread. It’s Saturday, and we’re supposed to be getting ready for a night of making money, but all I can think about is Itu – where she is, what she’s going through, if she’s even alive.
“Boipela, what’s wrong?” She notices my face, and her smile falters for a second before annoyance creeps in. She hates it when I get like this.
“Help me choose and I’ll do the same, yhoo! I guess I’ll just wear this red dress,” she says, tossing the other one aside like it’s nothing. Like Itu’s nothing.
“I don’t feel like going out tonight. Itu is still missing and we haven’t heard a thing about her,” I say, frustration bubbling over like a pot left unattended. My mind’s a riot of worst-case scenarios, and Nthabi’s treating it like it’s no big deal.
Nthabi rolls her eyes, a sharp motion that makes her hair flick. “Here we go again. I thought we moved past this, Boi. Stop overthinking. Maybe she’s around with a new guy she probably met.” She’s so unbothered it’s infuriating. Does she not care at all?
“What if Tumelo caught her?” I ask, my voice dropping low, and she stops. Her expression hardens, like she’s slamming a door shut.
“Boi, stop asking me stupid questions. Stress is the last thing I need. Get off that bed and go prepare. We’re going to make a lot of money tonight,” she says, turning back to the mirror, adjusting her hair like it’s the most important thing.
“I’m not going,” I say, standing up, my decision firm. I walk out of her room, leaving the chaos of my thoughts behind. I can’t do this tonight.
“Suit yourself!” she calls after me, but I’m already gone, shutting the door on her carefree world. Mine’s crashing down.
I storm into my bedroom, the door slamming behind me like a punctuation mark on my frustration. I start ripping through my phone, fingers flying across the screen as I search for Itu’s mom’s number.
I need to know if she’s heard from Itu, because Nthabi’s clearly checked out, too busy counting her cash to care about anything else. My heart’s racing like I’m doing something reckless, something I might get in trouble for. Why did I let Nthabi talk me into just dropping it? What if something’s really wrong?
I find the number and tap it, my fingers trembling as I hold the phone to my ear. It rings, and I feel like I’m holding my breath. What if she knows something? What if she’s furious? The anticipation’s killing me.
“Hello?” Her voice is warm, familiar, and I’m suddenly shaking like a leaf. Like I’m the one who’s done something wrong.
“Hello…” She repeats, a hint of concern creeping in. I force myself to sound normal, like I’m not about to ask about her missing daughter.
“Uhm, hey Ma. Sorry about that, It’s Boipelo–how are you?” I try to sound casual, like I’m just making small talk, but my voice is all wrought. I want to get straight to the question but I’m afraid of her reaction.
“I’m doing great my child, and what about you?” She’s in a good mood, maybe this won’t be so bad. Maybe she hasn’t noticed.
“I’m fine but worried about, Itu.” I say, and there’s this heavy silence. Like she’s waiting for me to say something else, something funny or casual or… or what? My mind’s blank.
“Ma, we haven’t heard anything from Itu in 3 days. Has she reached out to you?” I’m bracing myself for impact, for her to scream or cry or demand answers I don’t have.
“Haiboo how so? She texted me this morning saying she’s alright and got a job that side.” My eyes widen in shock. What. The. Actual. Fuck? Good news, but why are our calls going straight to voicemail? Why is she ignoring us?
My mind’s spinning. Is she lying? Is she in trouble? Is she… is she okay? A million questions fight for space in my head.
“Alright Ma, thank you so much, I’m currently busy with something. We’ll talk.” I say, hanging up quick before she asks questions I can’t answer.
I stare at the phone, mind racing. I tap Itu’s number, but it’s still dead. Not ringing, not even voicemail. Is Itu really messing with our minds? Part of me wants to scream, part of me wants to laugh. She’s fine, but what’s the game here?
Fuck it. I’m gonna go groove with Nthabi. I’m tired of stressing about Itu. At least now I know she’s fine. I take a deep breath, smooth out my dress, and head back to Nthabi’s room.
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