Broken, Grave

Nomzamo

It was late at night and the rain was coming down hard. 

I sat silently in the passenger seat of the Mercedes Benz Maybach that belonged to Genevieve. I remember the first day that I met her, it had been when she’d pulled up next to me in this very same car. 

Nico was driving, and what rendered me silent were the cries that he was letting out in the frosted car, clutching onto the steering wheel with deathly white knuckles as I sat, reserved, in the empty space next to him. 

It had been two weeks since Precious’ wedding, and the death of Precious, Genevieve and Rosita. I don’t know if I should count myself unlucky or fortunate that I was in that hotel room when death rained upon them, but when I got the news, it had completely destroyed me. I’d cried for Precious and I had cried so hard, I ran out of tears, and lashed out on Nico. I remember screaming at the top of my voice, “You’re the fucking devil! You’re the fucking devil! All of you!” I’d released my anger onto him, hysterical at the loss of my cousin. 

Genevieve was buried a week after her murder, and she’d been buried in the vineyard of their home since that was the place that she loved most. The ceremony had been very small and intimate with only Frederich, Nicolaas and I there. It was also heart breaking to witness. Nico was taking the death of his mother hard, and I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look in his eyes as her coffin was being lowered into the ground. I’d held him then, held him close to me and tried to provide comfort. His father was on his knees the entire time, his stance that of a broken man. 

It was scary, how powerful both of these men had once been, and how powerless they seemed now. Frederich was a large and proud man, yet that day, he’d appeared…weak, insignificant and broken. Exactly the way that Genevieve had been the entire time that she was tied to him. I saw it then, the way that his shoulders had fallen and the way that his face was grief stricken with uncontrollable tears. It was like his very existence had been ripped away from him. 

That night, Frederich died, by using the same gun that Rosita had killed Genevieve with. He asked Nicolaas to put a bullet between his eyes, the same way that Rosita had put a bullet between Genevieve’s eyes. 

I had been wandering around the halls in my wheelchair when I heard a gunshot. I wheeled myself as quickly as I could in the electric wheelchair, and when I rounded the corner, I found Frederich on the ground with a bullet between his eyes, and Nicolaas looming over him, his face blank. 

Nico dropped the gun, turned and walked away, and I haven’t seen Nico since. 

Until today, well, an hour ago when he found me in the vineyard, standing over Genevieve’s grave, and Frederich’s who was buried beside her. He hadn’t said a word to me, and quite honestly, I had no idea what to say to him as he cried and drove. I could barely see through the windshield due to the severity of the storm, but he continued to drive. 

A part of me, one that was badly wounded form all that he had done to me rejoiced at the misery that he was feeling. It rejoiced at the fact that Frederich was dead and that Genevieve was finally at peace. It rejoiced at the fact that Nico was finally experiencing pain after all that he’d done to me. However, another part of me, the greater part of me squeezed in sympathy for the boy. Nico had lost both of his parents, and was probably in one of the most difficult times of his life. 

I couldn’t understand the pain of losing a parent since I hadn’t lost mine, but I could imagine the pure pain it would be if either of my parents died. Let alone both. I looked outside the window, hating the sound of his pained cries so I put my fingers to my ears, to block them out. They broke my heart too much. I wondered if he ever stopped crying or if he let it out every now and then. 

I was about to ask where we were going but then the car came to a slow stop, and I brought my fingers out of my ears as he turned off the car. I turned to look at him and found that he had pressed his forehead to the steering wheel, his hands gripping the sides of the steering wheel with deathly pale knuckles. I sighed, “Nico…” I called softly, hoping that he’d give himself a break and not kill himself from the heartbreak alone. I extended my left hand since I didn’t have a right arm and slowly placed it on one of his hands. 

I watched as he stopped his cries and took in a deep breath. He lifted his head from the steering wheel and cleared his throat, looking straight ahead. “You can go.” He finally said and I furrowed my brows, frowning in confusion. 

“I can go?” I repeated. “Go where?” 

“You can go home.” 

“…home?” my heart picked up speed and I wasn’t sure if I was hearing him right. I prayed he meant my home and not his definition of a home. I pulled my left hand away from his and went to wipe the window and I saw through the heavy rain the sight of the familiar brick house that I hadn’t seen in what felt like years. My eyes widened and I whirled around to face Nico, unable to stop my wide smile. “Really?” I exclaimed in glee and then threw myself at him, hugging him as best as I could with a single arm. 

I then tore myself away from him and went to open the door. A crack of thunder was heard just as I was about to hurl myself out of there even if I couldn’t walk due to the bullet wounds. I felt myself stop at the sound of the thunder as if it had commanded me, ‘stop!’ I closed the door again and with my hand still on the handle, I turned my head sideways to face Nico again. “You going to be okay?” the irony of me asking that to my captor and abuser. I can’t believe I still cared to ask him, but I did. 

He didn’t look at me, he continued to look straight ahead into the nothingness that the storm created. I removed my hand from the door handle and faced him fully again. I placed my hand on the other side of his face and turned him to face me, “Nico…” I said softly, feeling my heart do somersaults when he looked into my eyes. I couldn’t deny the feelings that were there, I think the curse had to do more with the fact that no matter what hell these men put you through, somehow, your heart betrays you and you find yourself attached. That’s the true curse, I’d like to believe. “I’m sorry,” I said the words that I deserved to hear from him. 

I was heading back into my family’s home without an arm and unable to use my legs. I’d left healthy and now would return in a wheelchair, dismembered, and without an eye. 

“You’re going to be okay…life throws things at you sometimes,” I continued, my hazel eye gazing into his steel blue ones. “Some things are harder than others,” I softly relayed to him, committing his features to memory. I wanted to tell him to be better, to use this opportunity to change. But those words never left my lips, instead I gazed into his eyes and the air around us seemed to grow heavier with what came with ‘goodbye’. God! Why don’t I want to leave this car? Why haven’t I let go of his face? Why am I leaning in to kiss him? And God, why does it feel so good?!

Our lips moved against each other with ease and passion. His lips were always so cold, and the feel of the cold tip of his nose on my face had become a common comfort. He grabbed me by the sides of my face, pressing me even closer as if he couldn’t get enough of me and wanted to basically become one with me. I gripped onto his shirt, deathly afraid of the length of the kiss since I couldn’t breathe. He finally pulled away and I sucked in a breath, finally filling my lungs with something other than the addiction that was Nico. 

“Thank you, Nicolaas,” I said earnestly as I realised that he’d brought me home. I gave him a small smile, turning back to the door and opening it. I held it open and the rain poured into the car, drenching me. I hesitated, finding it hard to move because I actually didn’t want to leave. I feared taking that step, as if he’d suddenly change his mind, drag me back in here and punish me for trying to get away from him. I swallowed, blinking slowly and turned my head back to find him watching me. His eyes shined with the grief that he hadn’t been able to rid them, “goodbye, Nico.” 

Minutes later, I was in my wheelchair, on the stoep of my parents’ home, as I watched on at the sleek car drive further and further away, disappearing as it turned the corner. I couldn’t help the tears that began to flow, mixing with the rain that I was glad was pouring down on me. 

Why did home feel so foreign?