MATHONGA

Chapter 18

FUNOKUHLE-

The drive to his home consisted of nothing but the radio presenter’s updates on music and the news. I preferred that over a conversation with him. I have revealed too much and I fear he will want to find Pule. That man is dangerous, he’s never going to leave me in peace. He’ll want to hurt Vukuzakhe and I can’t have that.

“This is your home.” Vukuzakhe voices when we enter the house, making me feel somewhat strange.
We’ve just arrived at his house, it’s beautiful. I expected a mansion, but it’s simple, cosy and does not make me feel out of place. It’s a moderate size, a single-story. The interior goes well with the house, earthy colours but very sophisticated.
“You’re so sappy.” I tell him, because well, this is something you’d hear out of a telemundo. I’m hearing him laugh for the first time, it’s breathtakingly beautiful.
“Let me show you around.”
This I did not expect, there really is no reason for him to show me around.
He takes me on a small tour, showing me the rooms. Four rooms later, we find ourselves in a stylish bedroom. The mustard colours give an impression of a woman’s touch. Must be his wife.

“You can sleep in here, the bathroom is that side. There’s a small cabinet in there, you’ll find a pair of sleepwear.” Points to a door opposite the queen-sized bed. “Don’t worry, they will fit. I’ll order us something to eat while you take a shower.”
I want to ask if he’s okay, he’s sweating. Must be the jersey he’s wearing. He turns and leaves before I get a chance. 

A quick bath later, feeeling refreshed and clean, I step out of the room. The house is so small that it’s easier to find my way around.
A smell of KFC draws me toward the kitchen, and there he is… dishing up pieces of chicken, rolls and gravy on the side. He’s changed his clothes as well, a dark shirt with matching pants. Pyjamas, I think. Unless he’s the type that wears a two piece.

“Hi.” I greet, I’m an idiot. He whips his head and a smile crosses his face. It almost knocks me off my feet, I have to practise my breathing so I don’t fall.
“Hey, I hope you like KFC. I didn’t know what to get and this was the first thing that popped up on the app.” Typical. 
“I don’t mind.” I join him, only to find that he’s dished up one plate.
“Aren’t you eating?” It will be weird for me to dine alone, while he’s watching.
“I am.” He points at a bowl not far from the boxes of KFC. I don’t know what I’m looking at, it does not look edible.
“It’s Amasi and bread. Fried chicken gives me heartburn.” He explains.
Someone call 10111, this is an insult to the Amasi company. There are four stools in this kitchen, yet he sits next to me. Lord he smells so good, fresh actually. I think he took a shower too. My heart is acting like a whore. Twerking to the scent.

“So, you’ve been searching for me?” I start a conversation, I think I’m chewing to loud. Better we talk than listen to the sound of food going down my throat.
“Yes, I hired someone to look for you.” Quite blunt I see.
“And you found me.” I’m glad he found me.
Why am I not freaked by his little obsession?
“I found you,” he says, eating like the food tastes so heavenly. It’s quiet again, sounds of spoons and bowls and me chewing take the centre stage.
“The sweater... uhh... he burnt it.” Here I am being casual again. I must be confessing like someone under oath, he will start thinking I’m weird. His brows raise in confusion, tongue flicking from side to side over his teeth. Clearly sweeping away access food. 
“What?” He asks.
“The day I left with Pule at the hospital, I was wearing your sweater. He burnt it, he said it smelled like you.” A laugh escapes my mouth, I sound like a jealous lover. “Funny because he thinks he knows what you smell like.”
Stop it Funo…
There’s a smile on his face, in his eyes too. Me and my big mouth.
“So, do you like my scent?” He asks.
Great, just great. I’m not going to answer him. 
“That’s fine, my Minnie minion.” Vukuzakhe says, a stern expression on his face.
I clear my throat, an unexpected timidity coming forth. No one has ever claimed me as their own, not my father, and not Pule either. All this talk makes me soft and needy, I want to hide in him, under him, beneath his skin and possibly in this heart he’s offering.
The stern face opens up in a timid smile once I meet his eyes. “Whatever.” My reply is said to hide the heat burning my cheeks, if I were a few shades lighter, I’d be caught red handed. To stop myself from uttering nonsense, I take bigger chunks of the greasy chicken. Vukuzakhe’s plate is empty, he stands to drop it in the sink. Oh! He’s washing it. Clean freak I see.