Zioh shot me with a sharp look, and his hand was clenching my skin with tension. He ducked his head and shook it.
What? They were no longer together? They had broken up?
His eyes met mine again, lips twitching into a thin smile so fleeting I might have missed it if I blinked. “If you want to ask about women, ask Zeraiah. He had a lot of fun.” His stare darkened further. “But me? I want to have fun after a long fucking time.”
And in the next instant, his lips crashed onto mine again—rougher, faster, more desperate than before.
10
Tshabina
My phone buzzed. I didn’t check it. I couldn’t.
I had spent the entire day locking myself inside my room. This weekend was wasted on being shut away, mourning within these four walls, lying like some half-dead corpse on my bed, with tear-soaked pillows and a mess of blankets, unnoticed by anyone.
Perhaps it wasn’t such a significant change, since I had always preferred to spend my precious time off buried in my bed. That must have been why no one realized how I’d been these past two days, not even my twin brother, Tsabinu. A part of me felt relieved and grateful for that, though.
Tsabinu was always busy, even on weekends, and my dad was away at a relative’s house. Dad often preferred spending time with relatives, especially after we encouraged him to do so, realizing how much brighter he seemed away from the house, surrounded by friends.
Ever since Mom passed, Dad spoke less. Smiled less. As if the world had dimmed and stayed that way.
When Mom died, Dad suffered a stroke. It began with hypertension, and when he received the news of her passing, he collapsed. For months, he lay bedridden, able only to move about in a wheelchair, and he would spend his days staring at the wedding band that still clung to his finger. Even though his condition had improved, he still had to be observed with caution. His high blood pressure sometimes made him faint, leaving Tsabinu and me worried.
Dad’s illness led him to take early retirement and focus on his recovery.
The memory of that day still stung; the way I had cried as we sold the house filled with our memories of Mom, ofus, and moved to a simpler one. Tsabinu, as the eldest, bore theheaviest burden. One night, he got rid of everything—every file about Oxford and Cambridge University. When I asked him why, he smiled with quivering eyes and told me he’d stay here to keep me company. I hugged him tight, forcing my tears back with everything I had, because it had always been the dream he once shared with Zioh and Zeraiah.
Every time those memories came back, my eyes started to sting. Especially knowing my brother had to work while studying. He took on freelancing, tutoring, and part-time shifts at a coffee shop.
I wanted to help, but Tsabinu insisted I shouldn’t. He said we needed someone at home to watch Dad besides our housemaid, Mbak Mayang. Once he had some income, Tsabinu began investing and building connections. He pushed himself, tirelessly expanding his network wherever he could.
At last, he had a career and a secure position that could provide for Dad and me. I’d also begun to share the load, so he’d no longer be fighting alone. Still, little else seemed to matter to him. He didn’t look for anyone else—only dad and me. Always us.
That was why I’d always tried to be careful. I didn’t want to be a burden on my brother, nor a trigger for dad’s fainting spells, especially since Tsabinu worked for the Danudara family’s company.
I had to be fine.
But I couldn’t. That was why I was hiding in my sanctuary, where I could cry as much as I wanted. I had buried my face in the pillow for nearly two days, muffling sobs so neither Dad nor Tsabinu would hear.
A rhythmic throbbing hammered against my skull. I tried to blink, but my swollen lids resisted, raw and aching. When I tried to swallow, my parched lips cracked.
But nothing hurt more than my chest—it was slashed open so damn deep, I wasn’t sure it could ever heal.
I wanted to scream at myself. Because I brought this pain upon myself.
Even now, the bitter taste of alcohol wouldn’t leave my mouth, the trace of his scent still clinging to my body. And I scrubbed my face harshly whenever my mind kept replaying the touch I’d shared with Zioh, every breath, each moment, from the hotel early the day before. As though some tragic film reel.
When Zioh had left me that morning,just like that,without even wanting to look at me, his eyes said it all: regret, shame for the memories we had shared.
But what was worse, far worse: were his words.
He said it again. Zioh had the heart to spit those cursed words at me once more, shattering me to pieces, only to trample over the remains.
I sobbed, the images replaying over and over, each word he had spoken like steel twisting deeper into my heart.
“Zi… please, we need to talk,” I whispered, pleading, wrapping myself tighter in the blanket.
Even the birds hadn’t whistled yet, and the man before me looked as though he couldn’t even wait for sunrise to get away from here.
