Hook Line & Sinker - 1. Chapter 1

The ocean beats against the rocks as the grey sky started to gather more clouds. God, this looks beautiful. Somehow I’ve always been more attracted to the darker side of things, like when I was nine, I always used to sneak out of my room – when everyone else was asleep in the house – to go watch horror movies in the lounge. I had gotten caught after six months of sneaking out; the movies never gave me nightmares, really, nothing scared me, at some point I’d start laughing. I only got nightmares of me falling, or me drowning in the ocean, when waves would become so large – like a tsunami – and claim only my body. Today I wish that dream came true. See the thing is, I’ve been so lonely and empty inside that I feel like no one would miss me when I’m gone. It’s like Nate Reuss sings in that Fun song;

I feel so all alone

No one's gonna fix me when I'm broke

How do you cry with inanimate eyes?

You're never gonna smile with the way that you're wired

And I feel so all alone.

I know, right? So depressing. No one cares. You should suck it up. It’s okay, you may say it; it’s nothing I haven’t heard from my friends. They never shy away from telling me how pathetic I am. That I should get over it, but it just happened yesterday. How do you get over a break-up that happened the night before?

Oh, just an introduction, my name is Matsimela, but my friends call me Mat for short. Nothing exciting about it, it just means roots; my parents had me to build roots into their marriage and try keeping themselves together. If only someone would’ve told them that a kid doesn’t keep marriages together. Anyway I don’t look as horrible as I sound, I think I’m attractive, but who doesn’t? Besides, if I was attractive I wouldn’t have such a hard time finding people to care about me right? Anyway, about me: I’m roughly about 1.88m tall, dreadlocks that come up to my shoulders, moderate brown skin tone; I have ‘beautiful brown, bright, wide eyes’ or so one of my many exes said. My body is lean, like a runner, which I am. I have high cheekbones and full lips; to me I seem decent. I don’t sound too bad, do I?

Well, let’s get you caught up on the affairs that happened to make me feel so distraught and want to get swept away by the waves of the ocean. Up until yesterday I was in a loving relationship with this wonderful man named Kgotso – his name means peace. The mother-fucken irony. KG, yes that’s what we’ll call him, and I had been together for eleven months. KG was in the closet and I didn’t mind; he and I would have our dates in places where no one knew us, which meant sometimes we’d travel to the next city. It was exciting at first. Living in Port Elizabeth isn’t as exciting as it sounds, and sometimes, well, it gets kind of small and everyone knows everyone. We’d take trips down the wild coast, weekends away, and sometimes do getaways to new places. It was exciting to explore new places, and our new love. Life was grand, and he used to fuck me like there was no tomorrow; he made me feel so special. He’d send me flowers every time he missed a date, and he’d sometimes cook for me at my place.

Oh, I forgot to mention he got me an apartment because he didn’t like where I lived. He said it wasn’t private enough and anyone could see him. So, he got to talking to his friend, who was a real estate agent, and got me the apartment I lived in. I paid for food, water and electricity, while he had already handled the lease being in my name and all the finer details. I honestly thought he was the one; he and I had gotten along so well. He never got jealous and I had no reason to be of him. Of course we fought, but it was over the smaller things in life. The thing with KG was that he was, or rather is, forty-six and well; I’m fresh out of university, at age twenty-one. You know when you feel strongly about someone, and he always makes you feel so special and so loved, age means nothing and nothing else matters other than your love.

We first met in a club; no I didn’t give him a blowjob in the back alley or in the bathroom. I was doing a cigar promotion at an exclusive bar in town, and the bar was packed with rich people, business suits and tuxedos that cost more than I could earn in a year. The alcohol cost more than my rent, so to say I was way out of my league was an understatement. I had even felt underdressed in the suit the promotions company had rented out for us. None of that was the point; the point was that if we as the promoters sold enough cigars, we’d get a ten percent commission. The target was five thousand, and if we got the target and sold more, they added to the hourly rate we got paid. I’d be able to pay that month’s rent and take the money my parents send me for rent for the following month. The way it worked was that my dad paid for tuition and text-books, my mom paid for rent and transport, and I got a few jobs on the side to pay for clothes, and try save money for my first car. Good plan right? I’m kind of focused like that.

I had just walked over to a table where four gentlemen were talking rather loudly, and you know what they say about people who talk loudly in bars; they're usually drunk and drunks have deep pockets no matter how shallow they actually are. Okay, so maybe I’m the only one that says that, but it proved true at that particular table. I had gotten two of the men to buy from me and the others were non-smokers. The next table I went to was filled with smokers, so I chatted them up, and ended up selling at least two boxes of cigars to three of them. I was on proverbial fire; I had sold eight boxes of cigars, each box costing seven hundred and eighty rand. I may not have been good at math, but I was damn sure I was set on getting an additional five boxes sold. I approached another table, but before I could say anything, one of the gentlemen raised his glass towards me.

“Another one, waiter, and be fast this time.” Clearly he was addressing me, but I just stood there confused and looked around, before deciding to reply.

“Sorry sir, but I’m not your waiter,” I said respectfully.

“Then what are you doing here?” he asked ever so politely.

“I’m selling cigars, to be more specific, Padron –“

“What do you know about cigars? Are you even old enough to be in a bar?” The middle-aged gentleman clearly had had more than enough to drink. I was about to leave, but I decided to try and get money out of him.

“To be honest, all I know is that this brand of cigars is from one of the most celebrated cigar manufacturers in the world, having earned more 90-and-above ratings in Cigar Aficionado than any other, I also know you want a drink. Seeing as your waiter isn’t here, how about I go order you one? Don’t tell me what you had to drink, just give me your glass and if I guess right, you buy two boxes from me, and if I guess wrong, I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the night.” And for the first time since I’d gotten to the table, the drunken guy threw his gaze up at me and met a confident look in my eyes. I was going on out a limb here; I really needed the money and I hoped this bastard had simple taste in alcohol.

“Deal! Why not up the stakes a little?” He saw me raise an eyebrow; I had nothing to offer, so what could he possibly want? “If you get me my drink to me in the within five minutes, then I can let you keep the change. If you don’t get it right you can pay for my drink.” He raised the money for his drink.

“Fine,” I said, eyeing the bar. I’m sure the smug bastard knew I’d fail at this, but it was worth the try.

“Go!” said my smug opponent, and I manoeuvred briskly through the crowd. Now, the difference between a rich–people club and a normal-people club is within the volumes allowed in. These events are highly expensive purely for crowd control, and this place had reached its ‘capacity’ at eighty people. Because I’m used to having to fight one-hundred and thirty-odd people to get to the bar every other weekend, making my way through this crowd was nothing. I got to the bar and noticed the wide variety of liquor. I started to panic; damn this was going to be hard. I was caught up with my thoughts as to what possibly might be that obnoxious man’s flavour for the night, when the bartender hit the counter and snapped me out of my thoughts.

“What can I get you?” he asked with a smile.

“Something that says, I’m obnoxious, rich, snooty and have low self-esteem, so I have to over-compensate by ridiculing others.” Maybe it’s what I had said, or maybe I said it too hurriedly, but the bartender was looking at me weird. “See, I have a bet with the second table on the right by the deck, so if you could help me out, I could split the tip with you.” I gave a wink as it dawned on me that I could cheat and they’d never know.

“Unfortunately, I don’t know what they are having.” The bartender started to walk away after he spoke, leaving me, to count the minutes or maybe seconds until my demise. I was looking at the alcohol on display and ready to make my choice, I raised my hand to call the bartender back. He returned with a glass of what I presumed to be whiskey, and handed it to me.

“Tell him, you saw his tuxedo and thought he’d prefer a grand cognac over the swill he was drinking. That would reflect a man with good taste and a great wallet.” With that the bartender gave me the drink and I gave him the money. Once our transaction was completed, I all but ran to the table which had me betting my commission on a single drink. I got there with apparently thirty seconds to spare, as of course he’d count. What was I expecting from the asshole of the year?

“I hope it’s the right thing,” he said just shy of a chuckle. I watched as he raised the glass from the table, stirred it around and took a whiff of it. It felt like one of those slow-motion scenes in a movie, where the hero is about to defuse the bomb, but he's tried to cut two wires, however that made the timer count quicker, and now all we do is watch as the villain starts to celebrate. The timer is on one second; my villain takes a sip of the drink, and like every action movie, it turns out the underdog wins. I wish you could’ve seen the look on his face; the middle-aged gentleman was stuck between astonishment and anger.

“How much are one of those things, kid?” His friends looked at each other in amazement; they’d also probably expected me to fail.

“Well, they cost seven-hundred and eighty rand per box. So, per our deal, you get to buy two boxes. That means around one-thousand five-hundred and sixty. 'Around' because that’s not including the tip you had said I’d receive if I got back within your allocated timeframe.” I tried not to sound smug, but I swear I was probably beaming with excitement. The grandee got up from his seat, walked over to the bar and came back with more money in his hand to pay of his debt. Before he handed me the cash, he looked me in the eye, smiled and shook his head.

Walking away from that table was the best part of the night; it was then time to make more money from other people. Maybe I’d find a way to bet with them too. But before I did anything else, I had to go to the bar and pay the bartender for the assistance. The crowd wasn’t a loud and rowdy one, so I didn’t need to shout when I got to the bar.

“How did you know what he drank?” I asked him as he leaned forward to me. “You said –"

“I know what I said, and it was the truth.” He was so coy; speaking as if we’d been friends forever. “I also knew that the register would know what was being ordered, so I went there, and while I was there, I found their waiter and asked. So, boom.” He threw his hands in the air trying to make it seem like an explosion, and I just laughed.

“Well, however you did it, thanks! Here’s your half of the tip.” I shoved the money across the counter, and he just pushed it back toward me. I quirked an eyebrow and he simply smiled.

“I’m guessing you made that bet because you need the money, so keep it. I’m just glad I could help,” he said with a warm smile as he raked his hand through his dirty blonde hair.

“You sure?” I asked, still not convinced.

“I could use help with that psychology assignment we have due next week.”

“Huh?” I asked still confused.

“We are in the same class together; you always sit at the back dressed in black. You got the highest mark in class for that community outreach thing last semester, even though you worked alone.”

I started to feel bad that I hadn’t recognised him. To be honest, I hardly paid attention to anyone in class besides the lecturer.

“Shit, I’m sorry man. I never pay attention in class.” I extended my hand for the bartender. “I’m Mat.”

“I know; I’m Charles. Nice to officially meet you.” We shook hands and I may have stared into his eyes way too long, but it was all-innocent, because he was way out of my league.

“Of course I’ll help you. Let’s meet up on campus on Monday?” I offered.

“No good buddy, how about we meet up tomorrow? I’ll give you my number.” Charles wasted no time in getting pen and paper to jot his number down, and I took the piece of paper and shoved it in my pocket. Once I walked away, I was back in the game trying to sell that stuff. I moved around, smiled and I knew that there was only so much a person could try and do in order to sell cigars, especially with three other 'promoters' selling the same thing. It had been an hour and a half since my last sale, and I was ready to go home. I had already beaten the target, if I called it a night, no one could complain.

I headed out to the bathroom to take a leak before leaving the venue to go look for our brand manager’s car, and get changed in it before going home. I’d been holding in all the liquid in my body till that point and it wasn’t the cutest thing when it all came rushing out over a urinal. My eyes were fixed on a dark spot in between the tiles.

“You the cigar boy that got Mac to shut up?” I heard an amused voice say.

“Yes, I guess I am.” I turned to see a somewhat familiar face rinsing his hands. I finished my urination, zipped up and walked over to the sink.

“So, tell me how you did it,” he asked, looking at my reflection in the mirror.

“I imagined the most annoying and irritating drink, and ordered that.” I teased him with a grin on my face.

“You know, you have a mischievous smile.” My bathroom acquaintance was starting to become weird now; he still hadn’t looked me directly in the face but continued talking at me via the mirror.

“Thanks. I have to go now,” I said as I started to head to the door.

“Are you still selling cigars?” he asked, as I was about to reach the exit. I turned and looked at him, for a minute contemplating saying no, but I needed the extra money.

“Yes.” I nodded as well. I don’t know why, but clearly I wanted to emphasize that.

“How many must I buy in order to get your cell number?” He had now managed to look me straight in the eyes, sans mirror.

“Huh?” I was flabbergasted.

“Well, judging by the way you swayed your hips earlier, and the mere fact that you haven’t barged out calling me weird, means you aren’t straight.”

“I don’t sway my hips.” I honestly never swayed my hips. I still don’t sway my hips. He must’ve been drunk.

“Okay,” he shrugged and his voice sounded dubious. “So, how many?”

“None,” I replied.

“Don’t be stubborn. We're in a public bathroom, people will come in and I don’t want them knowing I’m out here asking a twelve-year-old for his number. So, please.” He let out a nervous chuckle before handing me his phone. I looked over at the expensive Samsung he had. I reached out for it from his grip; we made eye-contact when we both lifted our gazes from the phone . There had to be something there, for at that very moment, sparks flew. I took the phone in my hand quickly and started to type. What I had typed was:

Je ne suis pas à vendre.

I had managed to type this fast in his messages and saved it as a draft. I handed the phone over to him and walked out. I may have heard him say something about my money, but I wasn’t in the mood. Clearly he thought of me as a child, and secondly a child he could buy; paedophilic human trafficking much?

I walked to the door and looked for the girl that was in charge of the cigars. Once I had found her, I managed to leave the club with another colleague and get into our van. I changed at the back, making quick work of dressing and undressing; I was honestly tired and wanted to go home. I was about to close the door when I recalled Charles’s number was left in one of my pockets. I leaned over, picked the pouches of the pants I had worn for his number, and put it in my wallet. The girl locked the van while I went to walk over to the sidewalk and wait for a cab. It hadn't been five minutes before a car stopped in front of me and hooted. Now, in South Africa cabs don’t come in yellow, or some form of uniformed colour. Metered cabs can come in the shape of any car, as long as it has a ‘taxi’ sign on top.

I walk over to the car, the window rolled down, and guess who it is? The lavatory guy. I let out an exasperated sigh and rolled my eyes.

“So, you never gave me your number...”

I bent down. “I gave you a message, rather,” I replied, looking around to see if any cabs had miraculously come up.

“I had to Google Translate it, and it turns out you think I’m trying to buy you.”

“Whatever do you mean?” I asked sarcastically.

“I wasn’t trying to buy you. I was trying to support you without giving you a handout. It just so happened, I also wanted your number.” He sounded calculative; it was as if he wanted to be sure of what he was going to say before he opened his mouth.

“Well, no thank you, but you can keep the message.” I moved back from the car and stood upright.

“Are you always so difficult?” he asked almost shouting in order for me to hear him. I moved back closer to his car.

“This is public; 'people' are bound to see that you are trying to get the attention of a twelve-year-old. You should probably leave.” I tapped the door of his car and walked away to stand at the tail end of it and wait for my cab to arrive. It took him close to a minute before he got out of his car, but by that point I had decided to take out my phone and call a reliable cabbie to come fetch me.

“Okay, so I may have been a bit condescending earlier –”

I put a hand up to stop him from talking and spoke into my phone. I learned the cab would arrive within ten minutes, and that the driver suggested I wait for him where I already was.

I hung up, turning around, and forgot to avoid something. To my detriment Lavatory guy was there. And once he saw me lower my phone, he tried to speak to me again.

“Look," I said. "I don’t want to be rude, but I’m tired and I’m not in the mood for some rich guy to try floss his money at me so I'll drop my pants. As I said in French, I’m not for sale.” I looked him in the eye as I spoke; my tone was calm with just a minor edge of irritation to it, but nothing full-throttle.

“Okay, I get it. We got off on the wrong foot. I’m not trying to buy you, I just want to take you home. The ten minutes your cab drive will take to get here, will be the ten minutes it will take for me to drop you off.” He gave a shy smile at the end, and I almost wanted to cave in, but no.

“It doesn’t take ten minutes to drive me home,” I said, looking away.

“Hey, hey,” he said grabbing me by my arm. “Look at me. I’m sorry if I offended you earlier. I just… I’m an ass. I’m used to people falling over me because I have money. Maybe you can teach me how to treat someone right?” This time his smile wasn’t shy. I realised he wasn’t shy either, matter of fact he was a smooth operator.

“My mother told me to never get into a car with strangers,” I replied solemnly. I may have heard a grunt from him.

“My name is Kgotso. I’m into business, starting small ones, buying out members of big ones, etc.” He had said that with such pride that I could feel the arrogance come back. I rolled my eyes and he seemed to have caught that. “Okay, so you really don’t care about what I do, do you?”

“I’d like to know who you are, not what you are. You aren’t just limited to the things you do.” I was starting to get cold.

“Look, I’ll talk better if you get in the car with me. I swear I’ll drop you off at home nothing weird will happen.” He raised his left hand and made a cross over his heart with the right. That action elicited a giggle out of me, he smiled at the laugh too, and we walked towards the car. I pulled back a bit and took out my phone. Took a picture of the registration number, and sent that to my best friend and captioned it ‘in case I die, find this car, his name is Kgotso.’

During the ride, I gave him hell and he kept pushing back. Maybe the fact that I was so hard on him motivated him, because by the time he reached my then place of residence, he had only gotten the first three numbers of my ten-digit contact number. He sighed, but that didn’t seem to stop him from trying, because the following evening he had pitched up at my apartment complex and rang the landlord looking for a Matsimela. And that only made the landlord grumpy that she had to play receptionist. He told me he wanted to show me something, so I went down to see him, only to have him drive me to Seaview so we could sit under the stars and drink non-alcoholic wine and have dinner that he claimed to have made. The end of that night got him another three digits of my number. The douchebag behaviour disappeared with me, but I was sure it resurfaced when I wasn’t around. Maybe he was trying to impress me, until he got ass and left. But, now knowing what I know, he actually liked the challenge of having someone who made him want to be different than his friends. It sounds weird, but he had told me that he never really connected with them, and only stayed with them because that’s all he knew. We had gone out on several dates within a month before he had finally asked me out properly. I agreed, and things were wonderful until last night.

KG had always had his own keys to our apartment. I called it 'ours' because it was bought for our love, and he was mostly there, and seeing as he was mostly there, other people hardly came over. My friends hadn’t met him and I hadn’t met his; it was always us against the world. I understood because he was in the closet, and I was in love I would’ve done anything to make my man happy. So I stayed in the closet with him. He arrived while I was cooking dinner for us. He seemed stressed, so I poured him cognac and went back to the kitchen. I may be fresh out of university, but I’m no stagy-at-home-boyfriend. I work for the School of Language and Literature at the university I went to. It’s not the highest paying job, but I have no need for the fancier things in life. I have a place to stay, which my parents think my job pays for, and the love of my life. Until I opened my damn mouth, that is.

“Babe, we’ll be celebrating a year soon. Maybe we should meet each other’s friends now,” I said while stirring the food I was preparing.

“Not now Mat. We have had this talk before.” I could hear the exasperation in his voice.

“So, basically I must remain hidden, until you are ready?” I asked, trying not to get mad.

“Mat, I love you, baby. But I cannot come out. If people know I’m with you, then…”

“I know, you will lose investor confidence, and and and and.” I was rolling my eyes as I spoke. “But it hurts not being able to be seen with you, not to be able to show you off. SHIT!” I let out a loud yelp as I burnt my finger.

“What’s wrong?” KG asked, running into the kitchen. He grabbed me around the waist and peeked over my shoulder. “Be more careful, okay?” he whispered in my ear before trying to kiss me.

“Please, let’s not fight today, Matsimela. I’m really not in the mood.”

“And I’m not in the mood to constantly be in the shadows waiting for you,” I retorted.

“We’ve been through this before,” he said, throwing his hands up in the air.

“Remind me one more time which of your investors are not gay friendly? Because I did a bit of research and found that your three biggest investors, and a large majority of your secondary investors, are not just gay friendly but have members of the LGBT community serving on their boards. But you knew all of this, so tell me the truth.” I had started to move away from him and stand on the opposite side of the counter, because I knew he was going to try and sweet talk his way out of this.

“Mat baby, please don’t, I’m already having a bad day. I need us to be us, to have fun and make love.”

“I can’t continue having sex with someone who doesn’t love me enough to hold my hand in public, KG. You know Charles thinks I made you up just so I could reject him.” Imagine that, oh goodness at this point, I was done with all the secrecy. “Why lie about investors pulling out? Did you think I wasn’t going to find out? Dude! I cannot believe you. You come over here three nights a week and some weekends to fuck, have fun, be merry and be cute, but still I don’t know any of your friends and family, and all because of a lie. What else have you lied about?”

“Nothing,” he said, looking down. “Mat, I’m going to bed.”

“Great, now you run from your problems because lying wasn’t enough.” I said as I made my way to block him from leaving the kitchen.

“MAT!” That was the first time I heard him raise his voice, I had kept noticing his eyes and face dance around anger, but never had I seen him that livid. “Move!” There was a short growl accompanying that.

“Whatever, I’m leaving,” I said, resigning to my fate.

I was defeated; I couldn’t get him to talk and I wanted an outlet. I took a walk three or floor blocks down, then walked back, and I repeated the back and forth until I felt too cold. I was at the door when I heard KG shout, but the shouting was one–sided, so I was sure it was over the phone. I walked in and saw him freeze in place.

“I’ll be over there once I’m done here,” he responded with less anger. But the other person must’ve replied with something to upset him. “Dammit! I said I’ll be there.” He finally hung up; at that point I was in the kitchen dishing up. He must’ve heard the sound of plates being put down and he came over.

“Don’t bother dishing up for me. I’m leaving,” he said, trying to gain composure.

“Oh!”

“Please babe, not now.”

“Fine, I won’t dish up for you,” I said acidly.

“Would you believe me if I told you I love you?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I want us to be forever? Maybe have a ring on my finger?” I replied

“Mat…” he started to trial off. He sounded disappointed. “I love you, but I don’t think we could ever get married – "

“Why not? Oh wait, you can’t marry me if you are straight.” My anger toward KG was just boiling now.

“I have to go now. I’ll see you tomorrow; we’ll talk about everything then.”

“Who is so important that you're leaving the man you allegedly love home alone, filled with anger and hurt? Who?”

“Just a business partner who got in trouble with the cops; I have to bail him out.” I saw it in his eyes. He has a ‘tell,’ and I see it every time he lies; it’s like his left eye twitches while he fabricates.

“Why come back tomorrow?” I asked patiently.

“Because, I cannot be with you when you like this.” He replied sans lie.

My mouth opened to speak, then closed. Then opened again; I bit my tongue for the very last time. I finally decided to speak.

“If you leave, please don’t come back. I’m done with being treated like this.” I left my food on the counter and started to move out the kitchen.

“I’ll come back. This is our home,” he said, grabbing me by the arm.

“You are leaving our so called 'home' right now to go bail a friend out of jail. Dammit!! When will you ever tell me the truth?” I violently jerked my arm away from him. “Don’t you even know that your eye twitches when you lie? I see right through your bullshit, but I keep waiting for you to be real with me, to tell me the truth. But I guess all I deserve are pretty things, and road trips. You know what; I owe you an apology for the first night we met. Remember I said you couldn’t buy me? Well guess what, you finally achieved it. You got me this penthouse and various other things within a year. Congratyoumotherfuckenlations. You landed another trophy for your wall of conquests. How many of us are up there, Kgotso? Ten? What, do you go around buying every young boy just to make yourself feel young again? Is that it?”

I was fuming. If I could, I would’ve been red. I was almost pacing up and down, that’s how mad I was.

“It’s not like that. Mat, I never meant to hurt you. Dammit, I didn’t even know I’d fall in love with you. I never thought we wouldn’t last this long. Now shit is blowing up. I really care for you, but I have to tell you something.” There was sincerity in his voice, but my anger blinded me.

“Tell me you gave me AIDS intentionally, and I’ll find –"

“No! Just calm down first and then I’ll tell you.” As if on cue, his phone rang. I looked at him and told him I would go to the bathroom because I needed to pee and wash my face. Once out of the living room I made my way to the master bedroom to give him privacy and tried to relax my body.

Remember you can leave him; you have your own career. You can make it without him, you’ll miss him but fuck him, right? Yeah that’s it. The more he is out there, the better it is for you. Okay you can go now; what if he leaves? Walks out while you waiting on him to walk in here and say it was all a bad dream. You aren’t really fighting.

I listened to the voices in my head and headed out to where I had left KG. And he was nowhere to be found. I looked around the entire house, and he had not been there. I let out a deep sigh of despair so intense that I felt my sphincter clinch. I fell on the floor and wanted to kick and scream, be mad, raise hell, something – anything. But instead, I sat there for ten good minutes and finally decided to switch off all the lights, and go switch on scented candles so I could meditate. I meditated for at least forty-five minutes before I felt lighter, and clearer.

I picked up my phone and saw what time it was – 01:54 – it had been an hour and thirty minutes since KG left, assumedly.

I don’t know what I was doing; I guess I was dialling his number. I hear the phone ringing through the receiver, and I was about to hang up when somebody picked up.

“Hello?” I said calmly.

“Hey,” replied a female voice.

“May I speak to Kgotso, please?”

“He’s asleep, may I help, somehow?”

“Oh asleep, thank you. May I ask who this is?” I was trying to find more of my calm.

“His wife, and you are?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry Mrs Dinokeng. I’m the new assistant for Maxwell and Cowell, unfortunately one of our junior executives was arrested and asked me to contact your husband.” I kept my tone clear and emotionless.

“I’ll wake him up then, that sounds urgent.” She was panicking with a genuine state of panic.

“No need ma’am. I’ll call again tomorrow morning when he's awake,” I said, but clearly the phone was away from her ear, because I heard no response other than voices from a distance. Shit, she was waking him up.

I hung up the phone before he could even speak. I screamed so loudly once I was sure the phone call was dead, and had gone over everything that woman had said. Now it all added up, all the missing pieces fit. I was so angry, I kept thinking about all the time wasted, all the sacrifices, and all the sleepless nights. Oh crap, I walked over to the cabinet where he kept his cologne, and I threw all of them out from the fourth floor, and I watched as they broke on impact. I ran to where his clothes were, and I thought of throwing them out, but no, I’d rather donate them, except for one. The one he loved the most. I assumed she must’ve bought it for him, poor Mrs KG! I was so mad, I stayed up for the rest of that morning watching horror movies and a documentary about suicide; I’d had to watch it for my psychology modules last year, just before I met Kgotso.

Wrong Bitch, KG! Wrong mother fucken bitch!