Femme Fatale.

40

"Fine," she replies, tossing the keys on my lap. "Be quick. I can't protect you out there."

I rise to my feet, prying my hand from under Dinah's thigh and race for the door lest she changes her mind. I turn the key on the keyhole and when the door creaks open, I walk out and bang it closed behind me.

I look over the freezing garden. A weather befitting of tonight's sombre mood.

I thrust my cold hands deep into the fur of my sleeves and walk down to the last stair of the hostel, my head lowered, my cheeks icy with my tears. Suddenly I hear a shuffle and a pair of  flip-flops stop before me.

I look up slowly. A good pair of legs, if a girl cared to observe, thick thighs, a short skirt and a beautiful smiling face, chattering teeth: Lucky "Lax" Mambo.

"They're all over, I couldn't make it to my hostel on..." Lax shouts.

"Hush, they're coming this way!" I duck down in the garden beside her and we cling together. I could feel her trembling.

We see the mob as we kept covered in the bushy flower garden. They had lit torches and we could see the bobbing flares reflected on the water droplets on the leaves. The string of lights seemed to go on forever. I never thought there was so many students in our school.

We can hear them shouting curses on "our kind." At each violent shout there is a roar of approval, a roar of naked hatred. Lax shrinks lower, holds onto me yet more tightly and shakes with fear.

The mob marches like women possessed.

We watch as they came towards us. We dare not breath.  If the mob even guesses that she is out here, God knows the fires of hell would be gentler compared to their rage.

"Stop crying!" I hiss at Lax.

They walk right past us, shielded in the darkness. I peer over the leaves and see the lights pause, hesitate, as if they are looking out into the darkness, as if they can sense with preternatural awareness of a savage beast that the girl they want is muffling her sobs of terror into the furs of her lover only metres away from them.

"Do you think they are after me?" She demands fiercely.

"Not necessarily. But be warned, your circle of friends are the subject of whispers and you,the worst." I hold her hand to steady her but she starts muttering, like a woman quite insane.

Then the procession goes on. It wounds along the side of my hostel, the torches stretching for what seems like miles. Lax sits up and pushes back her hair. Her face is aghast.

I help her to her feet and lead the way to her hostel, the opposite direction to where the mob is heading.

Her hostel's doors are open and it's gravely quiet. I leave her in her room and go out to fetch some water for her.

When I come back, I find her on the floor, her arms wrapped around her as if she is hugging herself. When I lock the door she looks up at me through the trailing locks of her dark hair, and then looks away again like she has nothing to say.

"Lax." I whisper. She does not turn to look at me. "Lucky, come on!"

I go across the room and sit on the floor beside her. Tentatively I put my arm around her stiff shoulders. She neither leans back for comfort nor shrugs me off. She is as inflexible as a block of wood.

She gets up and walks towards her bed.

Her throat is too tight for words. Her knees give way beneath her, she lays her face on the covers of her bed and sobs into them.

I let her weep.

I wait until she raises her head and wipe her wet cheeks with her fingers. Only then do I step forward and kneel on the floor near her. She crawls, hands and knees, beaten down by her distress, into my arms. I hold her gently and rocks her as if she were my baby.

"Sleep," I say. "I'll stay with you, tonight. Grudge who grudges it."

I take her to bed, lift the covers and creep in beside her. I wrap her in my arms for the warmth. She shrinks herself into a ball shape and lies still, as small as a child.

I feel the linen of my night shift grow wet at my shoulder and realise she's silently weeping, tears pouring out from under her closed eyelids.