Zamageda his heart

chapter 15

As I pour myself a glass of wine, trying to process the strange interaction with Madlamini, Zipho shouts from the lounge, 'I'm gonna drive Madlamini home, she won't get a bus at this hour.' He grabs his keys and pouts, waiting for a kiss. I lightly peck his lips, and they head out.I spend the next hour catching up with my mother before settling in for the night to watch Succession. Just as I'm engrossed in the series, my phone rings, displaying an international number (+1) that makes my heart skip a beat. I think it might be Landiwe, my friend from the States, but the caller greets me with a formal 'Zama' - a name Landiwe never uses.'Hello?' I respond, questioning. 'Hi, sisi, this is Yandisa. How are you?' My excitement turns to anger as I realize who's calling. I haven't heard from Yandisa or her family in two years. What does she want now? 'I'm good. How can I help you?' I ask, no longer able to hide the animosity and annoyance in my voice.

I was just checking up on you,'" she says, her voice dripping with insincerity. I'm not buying it."'I'm fine, thanks. Is that all?'" I ask curtly, my patience wearing thin.But she presses on, her question like a punch to the gut. "'I saw you got engaged. Is he the reason you broke up with my brother?' My anger, contained for so long, finally boils over. I laugh bitterly, the sound cold and mirthless. 'You don't talk to me for two years, don't even bother asking about your niece, but you call to ask me such a stupid question after what that man did to me?' My voice rises, fury and hurt pouring out. "'You have no right to ask me anything, especially not about him.''I was just asking, there's no need to be rude,' she says, her tone defensive. I chuckle again, the sound laced with venom. 'Rude? You want to talk about rude? You've got nerve, Yandisa.

'My God I've forgotten how much of a rude and condescending bitch you can be, you and your brat probably deserved everything you claim bhuti put you through' she says before hanging up. As the harsh words pierce my soul, my anger dissipates, replaced by a crushing sense of despair. The painful memories I've desperately tried to bury come flooding back, like a tidal wave crashing against my fragile heart. The scenes replay in my mind with haunting clarity, as if it happened yesterday. I can still feel his oppressive weight, his heavy breathing, and the sound of his menacing voice echoing in my head: 'Ungijwayela kabi wena sfebe' 

The traumatic moment replays like a broken record, refusing to be silenced. I'm transported back to the horror, my body reliving the sensation of crashing into the glass table. The agony, the fear, and the helplessness overwhelm me. A primal wail escapes my lips as I desperately cover my ears, trying to block out the tormenting memories. The pain I've tried to heal bubbles up, threatening to consume me whole. I'm paralyzed by the anguish, unable to escape the darkness of my past.

'Zama!' a panicked voice shouts, but I'm too consumed by my pain to respond. I continue wailing, my heart clenching further, the physical ache of my breaking heart overwhelming me. I place my hand on my chest, trying to ease the pain, but it only intensifies. 'Kamanzini' , the voice whispers softly in my ear, as strong arms envelop me in a gentle hug. But my body tenses, my mind flashing back to the trauma. I scream louder, begging not to be harmed. 'I'd never do anything to harm you, nhliziyo yami'  he assures me, but I'm beyond comfort. His chest vibrates as he tries to pull me closer, but I shrink away, my body shaking uncontrollably.

My head pounds, and I hear him speaking on the phone, explaining my distraught state. He leans in again, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder, keeping his body distant. I'm sobbing now, barely able to breathe through my stuffed nose. 'Sthandwa Sami, I need you to breathe,' he begs, his voice filled with agony. 'I can't,' I respond truthfully, my voice barely audible through labored breaths. He swiftly picks me up, and I'm too weak to fight. He places me in the car seat and speeds away from his gate. As sleep consumes me, he begs again from afar, 'Ungalali, Zama, ngyakcela' . But if sleep frees me from agony, I'll let it consume me 

Commotion and flashing lights swirl around me, but I feel weightless, as if I'm floating above my body, leaving all my pain and burdens behind. I sense the air escaping my lungs, and a deep sleep beckons, promising serenity. The loud voice begging me to stay grows fainter, but I don't want to stay. I'm ready to surrender to the darkness.

But the darkness is short-lived. Soft sobs rouse me from my slumber, and I keep my eyes shut, unsure of how to comfort the person beside me. I've never been good at offering solace, and sleep seems like an easier escape from the emotional scene unfolding next to me.as I slowly regain consciousness, my throat feels dry and scratchy, a harsh reminder of the ordeal my body has endured. The sensation is unmistakable – the painful aftermath of waking from a coma, a heart attack's lingering legacy.

He excuses himself to fetch a doctor, his exhaustion evident in his slow stride. He returns with a young colored woman, who greets me warmly, 'Good evening, Miss Zungu, I'm Doctor Floyd.' I nod in response, unable to speak due to the mask covering my face. She gently removes it, and I whisper a soft 'Hi' to my man, who smiles through tears welling up in his eyes.

The doctor begins her examination, checking my vitals before asking, 'Do you feel any pain?' I respond, my voice weak, 'Just nausea and numbness in my left arm.' She nods, 'That's expected after a heart attack. Everything looks fine for now. I'll prepare your discharge papers, prescription, and a recommended diet to monitor your cholesterol levels.' Her tone is somewhat dismissive, irritating me, but I prioritize my health over my annoyance. I nod, and she exits the room, leaving me with my thoughts.

'You scared me,' he whispers, his voice trembling. I respond with remorse, 'I'm sorry.' I hadn't wanted to reveal this vulnerable side of myself so soon. I thought I'd long broken free from Nhlanhla's hold, but it seems I was wrong.

He tries to lift my spirits, 'We should call your mom and Lihle.' My eyes widen at the thought of him talking to my mom; I quickly call her first, knowing she's worried sick. 'Geda' , she greets me warmly, and we exchange pleasantries. She teases, 'Cishe wambulala ngestress umfana wabantu' , followed by 'uZama umelwa inhliziyo ma' , mimicking his serious tone. I laugh at the image of his solemn face as my mom recounts their interaction. We catch up, and update Lihle too, just as the doctor walks in to discharge me.

The drive back to his house is shrouded in an uncomfortable silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. His fingers brush against mine, his thumb softly caressing my hand, a gentle gesture that speaks volumes. He fusses over me, his concern palpable, much to Madlamini's annoyance.

He guides me to his room, and I ask, 'Can we shower first?' He nods, and we walk to the bathroom in silence, the unspoken words between us still waiting to be addressed. We finish bathing and dressing, and I ask in a pleading voice, 'Please join me.' He responds, 'I'll get you something to eat first,' and walks out. He returns with a tray bearing fruit salad, yoghurt, and juice, placing it on my lap. He hands me my medication before sitting beside me. I share my food with him, teasingly threatening to starve myself when he protests. After finishing, I take my medication and lie down, resting my head on his chest as the medication begins to wear me out.

When I wake up, he's not beside me. I decide to catch up with Lihle before my mother calls, her voice trembling with anger. 'Ayike umaka Nhlanhla called, they want full custody of Iyana.' Tears stream down my face as I whisper, 'Why?' I know that woman is as heartless as her son, and she'll stop at nothing to get what she wants, even if it means killing.

My mother explains, 'She claims you ran off with his granddaughter and denied her son access to his daughter. They'll do anything to prevent another man from "playing house" with their child.' I tell my mom I'll call her back, unable to continue the conversation. Zipho walks in as I try to wipe away the stubborn tears. He climbs into bed and envelops me in a warm hug, letting me cry myself to sleep.