THE RISE OF TUMELO
CHAPTER 09
ITUMELENG
He’s staring at me, waiting for a response, his eyes piercing into mine like they’re trying to see right through me. “I can’t come with you,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper, my heart racing with fear, my palms growing sweaty. He rubs his face in frustration, his movements tense, and I’m shaking, hoping he doesn’t ask about the money I stole, the weight of the secret crushing me.
“Tumelo, please leave – my parents wouldn’t be pleased if they find you here,” I say, trying to reason with him, my words tumbling out in a rush. He looks at me and nods, his expression unreadable, but I can see the tension in his shoulders, the anger simmering beneath the surface. He heads towards the door, and I’m about to let out a sigh of relief when he suddenly hits the wall multiple times, his fist clenched, the sound echoing through the room like a crack of thunder. The gun on his waist is slightly visible, and I’m holding in my scream, my body frozen in fear, my breath caught in my throat.
“Itumeleng, come with me,” he says through his teeth, facing me, his eyes blazing with intensity, his voice low and menacing. Slowly, I shake my head, refusing, my voice stuck in my throat, my body rigid with fear. I can’t be caged, I refuse to go back to Nelspruit with him, the thought sending a wave of panic through me.
He looks at me for a good minute without blinking, his gaze unyielding, his eyes boring into mine, before walking out, the silence oppressive, the air thick with tension. I walk to the window and watch him walking out the gate, his figure disappearing into the darkness, the shadows swallowing him whole. I let out a sigh of relief, but my bedroom still smells like him, his strong cologne lingering in the air, a reminder of his presence.
I don’t have a phone, and I was going to call Andile and ask him to come back home because now I’m scared, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios. He knows where I live, and only God knows how he found me, the thought sending a shiver down my spine, my skin crawling with unease.
I walk out of my room and head to lock all the doors, my movements mechanical, my heart still racing. Good thing my mother cooked – I’m hungry, but I don’t have the appetite to eat, my stomach twisted with anxiety, the food looking unappetizing in the face of my fear. I try to calm myself down, telling myself I’m safe now, but the fear lingers, a nagging presence in the back of my mind.
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FOLLOWING MORNING…
BOIPELO
I’m walking out of my bedroom, my eyes feeling heavy from lack of sleep, my mind a jumbled mess of worry and stress. The events of last night still linger in my mind like a bad dream – Tumelo’s visit, the strangling, the demands, the fear and tension palpable. I didn’t sleep a wink, and the exhaustion is starting to catch up with me. I can see Nthabi’s eyes are just as red as mine, a testament to her own sleepless night, her face etched with worry and concern.
“Morning,” I greet her, trying to sound normal, but she doesn’t respond, nor does she look at me, her gaze fixed on some point in front of her, her expression a mask of anger and frustration. I pour water into the kettle and boil it to make tea, the routine feeling mechanical, like I’m going through the motions, trying to distract myself from the chaos brewing inside my head.
I sit on the high chair as the water boils, my phone in hand, scrolling through Facebook, the social media platform a reflection of the chaos outside. I come across different posts, people complaining that Tumelo is back at it, his reputation preceding him like a dark cloud. This time around, he’s worse, even police officers are afraid to confront him, he got connections everywhere, the thought sending a shiver down my spine. 30 females and 7 males are missing, and it can only be Tumelo, the gravity of the situation crushing me.
“Nthabi, look,” I show her the posts, and her eyes pop out in disbelief, her expression a mix of shock and fear, her face paling. “You see what that friend of yours has got us through?!” she half shouts, pointing at me, her anger simmering over, her voice rising. “What if he comes here and hurts us as well? Only God knows what he wants from her!” she adds, still shouting at me, her words laced with venom, her eyes flashing with accusation.
“It was your idea that she comes here,” I remind her, trying to deflect the blame, but she’s having none of it, her anger too raw, too intense. She frowns, “But I told you that we should kick her out the day she refused going home with that Man,” she says, spitting on my face when she talks, her anger boiling over, her words dripping with malice.
I stand up, the kettle is already off, and I’m thinking, Itu really needs to cut ties with us. She has now put the whole of Nelspruit in danger, the weight of the situation crushing me, the responsibility suffocating. If she doesn’t do whatever Tumelo tells her, then I’ll have no choice but to expose her – because this is all her fault, the thought sending a wave of anxiety through me, my heart racing with fear.
The air is thick with tension, the silence oppressive, the only sound the ticking of the clock in the background. Nthabi’s still fuming, her anger palpable, and I’m trying to process the gravity of the situation, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios.
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Tumelo sits in the balcony, the dim light of the setting sun casting a eerie glow on his chiseled features, a glass of whiskey in one hand and a cigarette in the other, the smoke curling up into the night air like a ghostly tendril. The streets of Nelspruit are empty, the silence oppressive, and he’s pleased with the stillness, the quietness a testament to the fear he inspires. The city is hushed, the people locked away in their homes, afraid to venture out, and he’s the reason for it, the knowledge sending a shiver of satisfaction down his spine.
If the people of Nelspruit are locked up and not going out, it’s good, it’s perfect, it gives him the freedom to move undetected, to stalk his prey without being seen. The darkness is his ally, and he’s using it to his advantage, weaving a web of fear and control over the city.
Itu refused to go with him yesterday, and he’s still reeling from the betrayal, the rejection stinging like a slap to his face. God knows he cannot tolerate a betrayal coming from a female, the thought sending a wave of anger through him, his gut twisting with resentment. He still doesn’t understand why he didn’t force her to come with him, perhaps he didn’t want to hurt her, he only wants her close to him, he can never hurt her, the conflicting emotions warring within him like a battle-scarred soldier.
His phone rings, shattering the silence, and he tosses his cigarette away, taking out his phone, his movements deliberate, calculated. It’s his mother, and he responds, his tone flat, unemotional, a mask hiding the turmoil brewing inside him. “Tumelo, why are you doing this?” She’s crying, her voice shaking, and he keeps quiet, unsure of how to respond, the silence stretching between them like a chasm, a void that’s growing wider with every passing moment.
“Stop hurting people, that’s not who you are. I thought you’ve healed,” she says, sobbing, her words piercing through his armor, but he’s unmoved, unrepentant, his heart hardened by the pain and betrayal he’s suffered. “If she doesn’t want to be with me, then everyone will feel my wrath,” he says, his voice low, menacing, the threat implicit, the promise of violence hanging in the air like a guillotine waiting to drop.
His mother doesn’t respond right away, the silence hanging in the air like a challenge, a gauntlet thrown down. “Who’s she?” She’s confused, because Tumelo only cares for his family, and now who’s the she she’s talking about? The question hangs in the air, unanswered, as he says, “Bye, Ma,” hanging up, his tone final, before finishing his glass and heading back into his bedroom, the darkness swallowing him whole, like a beast devouring its prey.
The room is dimly lit, the shadows dancing on the walls like specters, and he moves through it with a predator’s stealth, his eyes adjusted to the darkness, his senses heightened. He lies down on the bed, his mind racing with thoughts of Itu, of revenge, of power, the whiskey and cigarette a temporary respite from the turmoil brewing inside him.
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