Betso kept massaging lotion onto her legs as she sat absentmindedly on the bed. She never saw Muzi enter and stand by the door. In the room, there was chilly, cold air circulating and buzzing into her skin. The goosebumps and frisson of her hands was more than enough evidence.
"Can we please talk about this?", he said in a gently pleading voice. She never raised her face, neither did she stop what she was unnecessarily doing. He stepped closer. She got up and went past him, straight to the closet. He followed her and watched as she pulled down her fresh fleecy pyjamas and her warmest night gown. A stack of her t-shirts came tumbling down on her head and as she tried to stop them from unfolding, the white towel around her naked, moisturized body fell down.
" Arg dammit!", she bellowed in complete annoyance.
"Let me help you", he hastened to reach her. He bent to the floor to pick up the scattered pile off the floor.
She dropped her hands and heaved a sigh.
"There was no need for you to kill him. No need at all", she mentioned. He stopped for a moment before patiently getting up. She looked away.
"I am sorry you had to witness all of that. I am sorry for putting you through such a mess when I made a clear promise to myself that I'd never", he apologized as he tried to take both her warm hands into his. She wasn't comfortable. He let go.
"Khumalo, let me get this right. You are only sorry for subjecting me to you killing a whole man in cold blood, but you're not sorry for the actual murder in itself?", she was appalled, and her face was proof. He sniffed and scratched his nose.
"You killed a man in our children's home and you're unapologetic about it. I hate this side of you. I hate it so much!", her eyeballs were wet and glossy.
"Betso..."
"No. You need help. If I didn't love you this badly, I would've been you in jail. That's where people of your calibre belong but—", she took a moment to breathe. Not only did she need some clean air in her lungs, but she also needed as much of it around her. All that bad energy felt like carbon monoxide. The more breaths she took, she more she felt she couldn't. She was standing in front of him, naked and bare.
"I am booking you into therapy", he informed him of her decision in its final form and he raised his face to argue. She cut him very short.
"No. You are going to do this and you're gonna do this for me, for our family. YOU ARE ANGRY MUZIKAYISE AND ONLY HELL KNOWS WHAT YOU WILL DO NEXT!", she exploded – emotionally.
"You want me to go tell an entire stranger about the details of my life?", he wasn't having it.
"You need it. You need to! You have a lot of things bottled up and once there's a trigger everyone's life is suddenly in danger. Killing is natural problem-solving skill in your eyes and you see nothing wrong with it. How is that normal?", she stood there and waited for an answer. Her question wasn't rhetorical. She genuinely felt he owed her answers.
"Ma?!", Lwandile yelled as he peeped through the door after knocking close to a million times. She locked her jaws and loosened her chest.
"This conversation is over, and you are going to therapy", she stated with absolute certainty, with no grain of doubt in her voice. He walked over to the ottoman and took a seat. She picked up the towel and wrapped herself with it, then walked out with the widest, fake smile ever known to be mastered.
"Hey baby", she greeted Lwa as she approached him for a hug.
"Sawubona Mrs K. I've been knocking on this door since yesterday", he playfully exaggerated. She laughed.
