BURN for Better or Worse (COMPLETED)

Chapter 18

BULELWA…

Manto is suggesting that we escape for a while and have lunch at some restaurant, I am not interested, my spirit is down and I don’t want to adult today. Three days of laughter, loudness and gossip has her thinking I’m her better half.

“You go ahead darling, I will hang around here and sulk about my miserable life.” At least I am polite about it, I tend to be cranky when I’m hungry. She sets off with a few colleagues... I need a long bath and maybe a day at a spar. My whole body reeks of petrol, I hate this orange jumpsuit, I hate this job. I hate my father and I hate my life.

Two men enter the kitchen, making enough noise to kill the little energy I have left. 
“Bafo.” One of them greets, I don’t bother to look up, but send a nod. “Are you okay?” The same voice, a little curious. Nodding is all I can do. I am not okay. I’m not happy about this job, I don’t want it. I want to be free and enjoy life. “Let him be bafo, he’s clearly going through something.” The second voice says and I appreciate his rudeness because I want to be left alone.
Their loudness continues, all this racket is giving me a headache. The horselaughs… kettle boiling… microwave counting down… spoons hitting against the metallic sink. This is worse than having a hangover.

They join me at the table, which I don’t get because there are two more tables in this kitchen. One of them sits beside me while the other settles opposite.
I feel like I’m cramped up in a taxi as the guy next to me has his thigh slightly touching mine, so much for wanting to be alone. 
They push their loud conversation, soccer is at the table. One is a supporter of Pirates and says Chiefs should change their name because the current one clearly carries bad luck, the second guy is a diehard fan, judging from the way he defends Chiefs with his life. 
I don’t care. I know nothing about soccer except that there’s a bunch of hunks running after a ball and whoever gets it first wins. I think.
Feeling a pair of eyes grilling me, I turn to my left to find my thigh-connector staring. A pucker builds on his forehead as if I was the one caught rubbernecking, he turns his gaze away almost immediately and continues with his friend.
The stolen gazes go on for a while, I want to stand and leave, but I am trapped between the wall and this man who looks like a descendant of Hulk. My exaggeration comes to play again.

Who chose this stupid long bench? The interior of this place is terrible.  A Tupperware lunch box is pushed my way, my eyes meet slices of white bread sandwiched in tomatoes and cheddar cheese. 
“Let’s eat.” The guy situated next to me says, I bring my eyes up to meet his hard face, but gentle regard. I might as well be squid-ward like Thandiwe had dubbed me because everyone is bloody bigger than me, annoyingly.  Makes me feel like a kid stuck in a big man’s world. I quickly hide my gaze when he slants a brow, a coy look charging at his face.  “Bafo, awulambile?” (Aren’t you hungry?) He asks and I am, but white bread and my waist don’t mix. If I accept this bread, I will really end up looking like a truck driver, Mandla wants to make a mockery of me.  
“I’m okay thanks, I already ate.” I should get a degree in lying. He doesn’t say anything, but claims his Tupperware back. 
“You don’t eat much do you?” His question is accompanied by probing eyes, they trail my body up and down. I am not sure I get what he’s saying hence the dazed look I shoot him.   “You must weigh like what, a feather?” He thinks he’s funny, his friend though finds him funnier.  
“My weight is perfect, thank you.” I retort, I have looked at my body and it’s gorgeous. 
“Not from where I am sitting, but- suit yourself.” I have a new daddy now? 
“Are you trying to convince me to eat your food?” I ask. 
“Is it working?” Is he trying for a smile or a grin? Because he’s miserably failing.
“No, may I pass please? I need to go back to work.” He’s crowding my space. 
“Relax bafo, there’s still time. Thirty more minutes left.” Like I need to be reminded. “You’re not happy here, are you?” 
“Should I be?” This man is sitting too close and I need  to breathe.
“Well, it’s a given that this is not your dream job, but at least try to lighten up. Your attitude stinks.” His attitude stinks and no one snaps at me. I am Bulelwa Msibi… Argh! What the heck? I can’t fight to save my life. 
“Your attitude stinks and you don’t know me.” He tilts his head up as I snap back, an unnerving presence from him pokes me. 
“Sure, but we’ll be working together and no one wants to be surrounded by some grumpy spoiled brat, who thinks he’s better than everyone here.” Where does he get the nerve?  “Go to hell, asshole.” I spit, and push past him to get to the other side. I will not sit here and entertain this nonsense. He’s sniggering at my retort… arrogant asshole.  
“Next time watch your words buttercup.” He says, voice gifted with hilarity and I have to peek over and find him smirking at me. Imbecile.