THE RISE OF TUMELO
CHAPTER 04
Tumelo stands in the balcony, Itu’s phone gripped tightly in his hand, a turbulent mix of determination and confusion swirling inside him like a storm. He knows exactly what he’s doing, yet can’t quite grasp the why behind it – a peculiar sensation that unsettles him.
Maybe it’s because Nelspruit belongs to him, a twisted kingdom where he rules, and no one would bother reporting a missing person here. He’ll keep Itu with him… for as long as he wants. The clock on the wall reads 7pm, and every door is locked, keys safely tucked away in his pockets like secrets.
He asked her to cook, partly to see if she’d try something reckless like poisoning him. He even bought poison on purpose – didn’t have any in his apartment, but wanted to test her limits, push her into a corner and see what she’d do. Cameras watch every corner of this place except the bedrooms, where shadows reign supreme.
Finishing his whiskey in one burning gulp, he turns and walks out of the room, the kitchen already scenting the air with something homely, something that smells suspiciously like home. Been a while since he had a proper home-cooked meal, and the aroma stirs something primal in him.
Standing two steps away from Itu, his voice comes out low and gravelly. “I’m going to call your mother. You’re going to confirm you’re alright.”
Itu closes the pot with a metallic clang and turns, eyes narrowing in confusion. “Are you turning me into your maid or something?” she spits, defiance flickering in her gaze. Tumelo shoots her a deadly glare, one that promises pain if she disobeys, and she ends up nodding, swallowing whatever fight was in her.
He taps the number and calls her mother. It rings once before she answers, her voice a whip crack through the speaker. “Wena nkare ke tlo nyaka o boele gae, aowa! Why are you not answering your friend’s calls?” she barks, angry and worried.
Itu glances at Tumelo; he gives her a cold, imperative nod. “I’m not ignoring them, Ma. Maybe I don’t hear my phone ringing when they call,” she says, trying to keep her tone even.
Her mom isn’t having it. “Itu, you’re there because of them. Now that you got a job you’re ignoring them, forgetting they’ve been feeding you and giving you a place to stay?” Her voice drips with accusation.
Itu’s eyes widen in shock – she has no job. She’s kidnapped. Panic creeps in, but Tumelo’s sharp whisper cuts through it: “Play along.”
“Ma, I have a very demanding job. The money’s a lot, I’m sorry if you think I’m ignoring them. I’ll call them before going to bed,” she lies, her gaze locked on Tumelo’s serious, emotionless face. He’s watching her, studying her every twitch.
“Mmh I hear you, but don’t let money get in your head that you end up ignoring your friends. When are you coming back?” Itu looks at Tumelo who’s staring down at her, his eyes intense and unreadable, like he’s trying to bore into her soul. The silence is oppressive, making her skin crawl.
“Uhm, I… I will let you know.” She says, her voice barely above a whisper, her heart racing like a drum in her chest.
“Alright my baby, bye. Have a lovely night.” Her mom says before hanging up, the sound of the phone disconnecting like a knife cutting through the tension.
Tumelo shoves the phone in his pockets, still staring at Itu, his gaze burning into her skin like a brand. “Why are you still alive…” The question comes as a whisper, his breath whispering against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. His hand slowly brushes against her cheek, the touch sending sparks flying through her body.
“What?” she stammers, her heart racing, her mind reeling with confusion and fear.
Tumelo turns and walks out of the apartment, leaving Itu shocked and confused, her eyes fixed on the door, her mind racing with questions. Since she’s been here, she’s noticed that he mostly goes out at 9pm sharp, like clockwork. That’s the exact hour she was caught when she was trying to make her way to her friend’s apartment, the memory still seared into her brain like a warning.
—
BOITUMELO
I’m sitting in the kitchen, sipping my coffee and lost in thought. At 55 years old, I’m still trying to navigate this new chapter of my life. My husband, passed away years ago, and I’ve been alone ever since. But recently, I’ve met someone special – a man from Bushbuckridge, in his late 50s, with a heart of gold. His name is Mandla, and he’s been making my heart skip beats.
As I’m lost in thought, my youngest, Tisetso, calls out from the living room, “Mom!” He’s 14,and a trouble maker.
“I said you should go to bed, you’re going to school tomorrow,” I say, trying to sound firm but gentle. I take a sip of my coffee, feeling the warmth spread through me.
Tisetso protests, “Only an hour Ma, the movie is about to end.” I give him the ‘are you serious?’ look, and he knows he’s not winning this battle.
“Go to bed, Tisetso,” I say, my voice a little firmer this time. He sulks, but gets up and heads off to bed.
As the house grows quiet, I pick up my phone and dial Tumelo’s number. He’s my eldest, and we’ve always been close. But he’s got a protective streak a mile wide, and I’m worried about how he’ll react to Vusi
He answers on the second ring, “Oledy,” he says, his deep voice a reminder of the little boy he used to be.”Is everything okay?” He asks.
“Everything’s fine, my boy. I just haven’t seen you in months,” I say, trying to hide the guilt in my voice. I hate that he’s so far away, and we don’t get to spend as much time together as I’d like.
Tumelo’s voice is laced with concern, “Mom, it’s late. What’s going on?” I smile, feeling a pang of love for my son.
“Nothing, I just wanted to hear your voice,” I say, trying to brush it off. But the truth is, I’m nervous about tomorrow. I’m planning on inviting Tumelo over for dinner, and telling him about Vusi. My stomach’s been doing flips just thinking about it.
“Perhaps I should keep it to myself, it’ll remain a secret until I’m ready to tell him,” I think, a mix of relief and guilt swirling in my chest. I’d rather have Tumelo hear it from me, not from someone else or by surprise.
“Alright Oledy, Bye I’m currently busy with something here.” Tumelo says, his deep voice a reminder of the protective son he is.
“Alright, bye.” I hang up and release a huge sigh, the phone slipping into my hand as I lean back against the counter. The kitchen’s quiet now, except for the hum of the fridge. I finish my coffee, the bitterness a familiar comfort, and turn off the TV in the living room, plunging the house into silence.
—
He’s driving his double cab Toyota Hilux GD6 2.8, the powerful 2.8L diesel engine humming smoothly as he navigates the quiet streets of Nelspruit.
The neighborhood’s gotten a bit more comfortable since he took a break from going out at 9 PM – people think they’ve got the green light. If Itu wasn’t in his apartment, he’d have long taught them a lesson. But for now, he’ll just scare them off.
He lowers the window, his piercing stare sending the looters scattering back to their homes like cockroaches in the light. He shakes his head, a mix of amusement and annoyance, and drives back to his apartment.
Arriving there, he parks the Hilux and steps out, the night air cool against his skin. He finds Itu seated on the couch, looking unbothered, flipping through a magazine. The door wasn’t locked – it’s either she didn’t notice or she can be trusted. He looks around the dimly lit living room, locks the door behind him, and raises an eyebrow.
“Your food is in the microwave,” Itu says, her tone a mix of casual and… something else. Maybe defiance. Maybe testing the waters.
He doesn’t respond, just stares at her, his expression unreadable. “Aren’t you going to give it to me?” He asks staring down at her.
“You’re already on your feet, why don’t you get it yourself? I’m here against my will, you’re making me your maid, you made me lie to my mother and now…” He cuts her off with a look – the look that says “don’t push it”.
“I was joking,” Itu says quickly, faking a smile. She stands up, walks to the kitchen, and gets the food from the microwave. She places it on the table, the aroma of warm food filling the air. He takes it, eyes locked on hers – checking if she’s messed with it.
He eats, relaxed, staring at her till she ends up going to bed, a bit awkwardly. Yes, she’s no longer locked in the basement but sleeps in the other bedroom. The tension’s still thick.
—
It’s 00:00 AM, the house is shrouded in an eerie silence, and he’s awake, the darkness his playground. He likes staring at her – there’s something about Itu that draws him in, like a moth to a flame. He walks out of his bedroom in his grey sweatpants and a tight vest, the dim living room shadows dancing around him like they’re trying to hide secrets. He pours himself a glass of whisky, the ice clinking against the glass as he turns to face Itu’s bedroom door.
He stands there, unmoving, like he’s deciding whether to enter a lion’s den. Slowly, almost stealthily, he opens the door and pushes it open. She sleeps with lights on – a habit, maybe a comfort thing, maybe a shield. He steps closer, his eyes locking onto her cute face, relaxed in sleep, her breathing soft and steady. The blanket rises and falls with each breath, and he’s caught in the rhythm.
He’s fighting the urge to touch her soft skin – the thought sends a spark through him, like electricity through wires. His gaze drifts lower, landing on her butt cheeks, slightly exposed under the blanket.
The curve’s like a whisper, and he immediately steps back, like he’s caught doing something wrong. He sits on the couch, breathing a bit heavier, trying to shake off the moment.
For the whole 30 minutes he watches her sleeping, lost in thoughts he probably shouldn’t be having. The whisky’s forgotten in his hand, the ice long melted. He stands up, the couch creaking softly, and walks out – maybe to clear his head, maybe to escape the tension.
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