4

It is very clear that Nyasha is here for blood. She charges towards me, morphing into a she devil right in front of me. I can see how angry she is, her bloodshot eyes are filled with tears that seem like liquid fire, pain, anger, disappointment and everything that is stemming from the love she has for her father and mother evident in them. I know I have to move, because I fell in love with her father, I at least owe it to her not to be belligerent but to run to my room or the bathroom. But I stay rooted in place.

For some reason my body refuses to budge. Maybe it is because with her spitting fire right in front of me I can finally really acknowledge that I am dating a married man. Or maybe it is because I am mesmerized by her eyes, wondering if my babies' eyes would have held so much fire in them had I allowed them to live. I feel my legs weaken, I know they will fold beneath me and I will find myself on the floor, mourning what was, what could have been.

But Tsitsi grabs my arm. Just as Masimba grabs his thrashing daughter.

So much energy in her, so much pain is the price she is paying for having loved, for still loving. She is here because I am threatening her parents' marriage and I understand totally where she is coming from. I wonder if any of the pregnancies I aborted would have resulted into a whole human being who would look out for me like that. Who would love me to a fault like that.

I, too, am paying the price of having loved. I am paying the price for speaking to my tummy whenever I realised that life was growing inside me. For staying up at night, with a goofy smile on my lips as I imagined my baby's softness in my arms only to have the father make sure I abort. This grief choking me is the price I am paying for having loved so deep. For letting a married man into my life. I am paying that price every day of my life.

''Fam, she is here for your head and you have turned into a statue?,'' Tsitsi asks as she shuts the door behind us. It is not doing much to muffle Nyasha' voice from the other side. She is throwing all kinds of obscenities in my direction. It is like her anger somehow finds a way to pass through the door and hit me in the face with as much force as if I am still standing in front of her. My pursuit for happiness has broken a lot of hearts. I do not want to be the reason another woman looks in the mirror different, the reason another woman starts feeling small or insufficient. And I definitely do not want to be the reason another girl's eyes swim liquid fire like that. I sigh heavily.

After a very long time to me, the sounds from the other side die down and I am sure I hear Masimba and his daughter walking away. I finally look at Tsitsi, like really see her. She seems unfazed, her beautiful eyes have not lost their sparkle, they still seem to be dancing with laughter and uncontrollable happiness. Suddenly I am embarrassed. I do not know why but I care very much how Tsitsi perceives me.

''Your eyes,''she says, a smile playing on her lips ''they are so dark and big I definitely want to paint them. Do you mind?,''I am floored that she is thinking of my eyes right now and not what she just witnessed unfold. And I also feel warm inside knowing that she finds something about me worth painting. I kick myself, she definitely complimented me innocently. I don’t think she has the thoughts I have in mind, I don’t think she imagines my lips on her skin like I do hers.

I remind myself that I am the one obsessed with the other here and should not get too ahead of myself.

''You are not going to ask me about that?,''I whisper, glancing at the shut door, expecting Nyasha to barge in any second breathing fire. Her eyes still haunt my thoughts, every time I believe I have succeeded in eradicating them from my memory they sneak up on me.

''Well, it is none of my business,'' she shrugs, pursing her lips and rocking on her heels. ''But if you want to talk about it, I am very curious to know why a girl like you can date not only a married man, but a man old enough to be your father,''her voice is not dripping with judgement or scorn. She sounds genuinely curious and I am touched. I take a seat on the couch and hug a cushion to my belly. Tsitsi comes to sit opposite me, one of her legs tucked beneath her.

''He is our pastor,''I pause for a reaction but quickly continue when I don't get one ''I had never been outside of our house and I had never had a real conversation with someone besides my parents and I never have conversations with my parents either. He was the first to show interests in what I had to say. He would ask for my opinion on things like I mattered. He would challenge me, push me to go out of my way to do the things I always wanted to but never could. I fell in love. I have always known it is wrong, he is married and he is respected by my parents. But...there is something inside me..a gaping wound that he only seemed to be able to heal...a ,''i pause, searching for the right words to explain how my parents' emotional absence has always affected me. How I cannot even talk about my periods to my own mother because she is just never there. She only becomes active when pastors and people from church are involved. She is all about the church and nothing else.

I feel a soft palm on my cheek. I raise my eyes and they meet with her soft kind eyes. I cannot help it, I find myself kissing the inside of her palm. She does not jerk it away like I expect her to, she keeps her hand on my cheek, carressing slowly. It solidifies, it is like I can see it-I am falling in love with my roommate, slowly. And it is forbidden in my world.

''You are very beautiful, you deserve to be the one and only and not second best. Nomatter how Masimba makes you feel he is someone else's, you deserve better, and you will find it,''she say, in a low voice. I wish she could just say-you deserve me. So I gulp and occupy myself with counting my fingers. She must feel pity for me. A girl who cannot even tell her mother she loves her because we are supposed to love God alone. A girl who greets her mother the same way every other day. A girl who has never had a shoulder to cry on except a married man's.

She on the other hand seems to have it all, she doesn't look like someone with gaping wounds or dead children behind her.

''Come on, we need to cheer you up, Let's dress up. I would like to see you in shorts,''she says, jumping excitedly.

''No, I am not allowed too wear anything revealing,''I hastily say, imagining my mother's face if she sees me in anything that shows even my ankles. The horrified look she had when she saw me in trousers that Masimba once bought me is still with me to this day. She came with holy water to sprinkle all over me while she prayed for me. The irony was that the anointed water was from Masimba and the trousers she was praying against were from the same man. I remember thinking of how funny my life can be, how funny in a very sad way. That is the only way I can get my mother's attention and get her to spend more than a minute with me.

''Are you allowed to have tattoos?,''she giggles, giving me a speculative look. How did she know I have a tattoo? Even Masimba is not aware of the tattoo on the small of my back even though he has taken off my clothes multiple times. Has she been checking me out. Oh, get over yourself Maqhawe. And say yes to the dress-up, you want to spend time with her don't you?

''Okay point proven, let's just pray no one from my family sees me in them,''I hear myself laugh, it is a new sound but I love it. My phone starts ringing, it is my Mother, maybe calling to remind me of the fasting we have to start tonight. I am not doing it. I have enough to deal with right now. One of those things is breaking up with Masimba and figuring out my feelings for Tsitsi.

I find her in her room, laying the tiniest shorts ever on her bed. Her brow is furrowed in concentration, she looks like she is having a hard time deciding.

''Well, this off-shoulder top and shorts will look flames on you , trust me,''she says and hands me a nude cotton off-shoulder top, that obviously stops somewhere above my navel and jean bum shorts. I wonder whose clothes they are because I can't see her in them. I already feel how bad this idea is. I dont think I can pull the look off. Of course we are going to be at home so no one is really going to see me so there is nothing to be scared of, but still. I turn to leave the room but she says ''you can dress up in front of me, I don't bite,''she chortles, as if enjoying her own joke. I wish I had laughed too, but I am late so I settle for taking off my clothes while she takes hers off. She doesn't pay any attention to me and I realise that I am making a big deal out of nothing so I hurry to undress.

''So how is it like to have millionares for parents?,''she asks as I pull the top over my shoulders. I was right, it stops just above my navel. I pick the shorts. I could tell her how it really is. Sad is an understatement. It is difficult to tell really and we might need forever and a day to explain my family.

''Not fun at all my parents are a little...uptight,''I say, zipping up.

''Ouch, sorry about that,''she mumbles, like she is not paying attention to me. I am debating whether to take off my head-wrap. It obviously does not go well with the outfit so I yank it off. I need to check myself in the mirror. ''Wow, baby, you are looking good! I am tempted to let you keep those,''she exclaims, making me twirl for her she can get a better view. She showers me with compliments and I preen to no end. My phone again, definitely my mother. She is very persistent. I decide to pick it up so I can have fun with my first ever roomate in peace.

''Shalom, chosen one,''I say into the phone. The other side of the line is silent except of my mother's heavy breathing. She has been praying.

''What is this I hear sister? Why have you turned your back on God like this?,'' I swear I can hear her anger from the other side. My heartbeat goes through the roof. She heard about Masimba and I?

I am dead.