THE INCARCERATED STRANGER

 

Chapter 12

 

MANGALISO

 

He just got off  the phone, lifts his head, and sees Riley waking up. He walks towards the hospital bed. 

"Hey," he says, and she fully opens her eyes to look at him. 

"Hey, what happened?" she asks, trying to get up but hurting her shoulder in the process. 

"Ouch," she winces in pain, and he quickly moves to help her. 

"Be careful, okay? You are hurt, don’t you remember?" he asks gently. She glances at her covered shoulder, and everything comes rushing back. She recalls driving out of the court gate when a car pulls up next to her, a gun pointed at her, and then a shot fired. She remembers being pulled from the car and someone saying they should take her to the hospital.

"I got shot," she says, her voice trembling slightly. He nods, his gaze fixed on her.

"I'm sorry; this is all my fault," he admits, his tone heavy with regret.

"How is it your fault?" she questions, confusion flickering in her eyes.

"Had you not been my lawyer and met me in the first place, your life wouldn't have been in danger like this," he explains.

She shakes her head firmly. “And you would’ve still been in jail trying to find a perfect lawyer, right?”

"Yes, but..." he starts to say.

She stops him with a wave of her hand.

 "There's no 'but.' It's good you found a lawyer like me. Look now; you are out of that prison. It’s not your fault that I chose to help you and didn’t listen to those people who threatened me not to help you." 

He lets out a heavy sigh and sinks into the chair beside the bed, its plastic surface cold against his skin. The room feels oddly sterile, the faint scent of antiseptic lingering in the air. 

“Did they run away? I remember seeing Sage and the others firing back at that car,” she asks, her voice a mix of concern and curiosity as she shifts slightly, wincing at the movement.

“The car got away,” he replies, watching her nod in understanding. There’s a weight hanging on him, unspoken but palpable.

“Does it hurt?” His gaze drifts to her shoulder, bandaged .

She nods again, but her expression shifts slightly, 

“It does... but not like that.” Her eyes flicker with an emotion he can’t quite place. He nods back, trying to absorb her words.

Silence blankets them for a moment, thick and heavy. He studies her face, searching for the right moment to speak.

“I have to discuss something with you,” he finally says, his voice barely above a whisper as he wrestles with the weight of what he needs to tell/ask her…

“Ohh, I’m listening,” she replies, looking at him, her interest piqued. Just as he gathers his thoughts to begin, Riley's phone rings sharply, slicing through the tension.

“Uhh... you can take that; it’s fine,” he stammers, rising from the chair with an air of relief. 

“Let me go find you something to eat.” He retreats into the hallway, leaving her to answer her phone., he takes a deep breath in and out.…

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He walks back into the ward, carrying a slice of apple pie and a bottle of Cappy juice for her. As he steps inside, he finds her focused on her phone, tapping away. 

“When am I getting discharged? I miss my bed and my house,” she asks, looking up as he approaches. He hands her the treats with a smile.

“Thank you,” she replies, already diving into the pie with eager bites. 

“Why didn’t you buy anything for yourself?” she inquires, glancing at him between mouthfuls.

“I’m not hungry,” he replies casually. She nods and continues savoring the pie, but when she tries to open the Cappy, her right hand is too numb to manage it. 

“Can you open this for me?” she asks, and he quickly pops the cap off for her. “Thanks!” she says gratefully.

He watches her eat, a soft smile spreading across his face. She feels his gaze and pauses, looking up at him. He quickly wipes the smile away and clears his throat.

“It’s not nice looking at a person while they’re eating; you make them uncomfortable,” she teases.

He chuckles softly. 

“You didn’t answer me, by the way. When am I going back to my place?” she presses.

“You are not going back to your place, Miss Qwane,” he states firmly. She raises an eyebrow in surprise.

“Did I hear you right, Mr. Mazibuko?” she challenges.

“Very right, Miss Qwane. You can’t go back to your house while your life is in danger!” he insists.

“I can find another place to stay or go stay with my friend,” she argues.

“And risk your friend’s life? Can’t you use that head of yours for a second? You’re a lawyer, but you’re failing to understand the situation you’re in! Do you think those people who shot you won’t find you even if you move?” he retorts, his voice laced with concern.

He takes a deep breath, in and out, trying to collect himself. 

“I’m sorry for raising my voice at you... please understand, Miss Qwane,” he says, his tone softening. She doesn’t respond, continuing to eat as if he isn’t even there. How dare he raise his voice at her like she’s a child! And what does he mean by “Can’t you use your head, you’re a lawyer”? Where does her profession come into this? Is he implying she’s dumb? How dare he!

Just then, the door swings open, and in walks the doctor. “I see my patient is awake. How is your shoulder, ma’am?” he asks with a friendly smile.

“It’s paining, but the pain is bearable, Doc,” she replies, glancing up from her pie.

The doctor nods appreciatively. 

“That’s great to hear! I came to let you know you’re free to leave. Here are some meds to take whenever you feel pain,” he says, handing her a small packet of pills. She takes them with a nod.Blade looks at him,

“Thank you, man,” he says gratefully. He smiles and gives a quick nod before walking out of the room.

She finishes her pie and drink, silence hanging in the air. Finally, she breaks it.

 “Get me out of here,” she says, her voice firm. He nods, taking the meds from her as he moves to help her out of the bed, but she pushes him away.

“I can get off the bed myself,” she insists. He raises his hands in surrender, letting her do it on her own. Slowly, she shifts to get off the bed, but as she does, her hand slips on the mattress. She wobbles dangerously close to falling when he rushes in and catches her.

She tries to push him away again, but he doesn't let go. 

“Stop being stubborn, Ayakha!” he exclaims, frustration creeping into his voice. She shoots him a glare; did he really have to use her second name? Ugh! He’s such a drama queen!

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RILEY

 She lets him help her out of the bed, and together they walk out of the ward, making their way to the parking lot where the car is waiting. He opens the door for her, and she slides into the seat. After that, he hops into the driver’s side and starts the engine, pulling out of the hospital.

As they drive, she stares out the window, lost in her thoughts. The silence stretches between them; neither of them speaks during the entire drive. Finally, after what feels like a long time, the car comes to a stop. They’ve arrived at the safe house.

She opens the door with her left hand and steps out, leaving him behind. She walks inside the house and finds Sage and his friends gathered around a chessboard, deep in their game.

 “Hey,” she greets them, but then heads straight to the room she’ll be using.She slams the door and sighs, plopping down on the bed. So this is it! She has to stay here, bored and surrounded by boring people—until when? Why are people after her life? It’s just her job as a lawyer for crying out loud! Frustration bubbles up inside her, and she groans. All she wants is her house, her own space. Sure, staying here is better than being stuck at work all day, but it doesn’t feel like home. Her phone rings next to her, and she glances at the screen. It’s Lulama, her mother. She remembers ignoring the call while she was at the hospital; right now, she’s not in the mood to deal with her swearing or the emotional blackmail just to get some money. She lets the phone ring until it stops, only for it to start ringing again.

Getting up, she slips off her clothes and heads to the bathroom. At least this room has a bathroom in it. She enters and prepares a warm bath, pouring in her favorite products that help relax her body and mind. The steam begins to rise, wrapping around her as she anticipates the soothing relief of the water.

  She sinks into the warm water, letting it envelop her like a comforting hug. The tension in her muscles begins to melt away as she leans back, closing her eyes. The scent of lavender fills the air, calming her racing thoughts. 

For a moment, she allows herself to forget everything—the what happened at the court, the weight of her mother’s expectations. Instead, she focuses on the gentle sound of water lapping against the sides of the tub and the way the warmth seeps into her skin.

After a while, she picks up a small bottle of bath oil and pours a bit more into the water, swirling it around. She thinks about how nice it would be to have a little peace for once—no drama, no demands. Just her and this moment of quiet.

But as she relaxes deeper into the bath, her mind drifts back to Lulama’s call. A part of her feels guilty for ignoring her mother, but another part knows that she needs this time for herself. “I’ll deal with it later,” she tells herself softly.With a sigh, she reaches for a washcloth and starts to scrub away the day’s stress, feeling lighter with each stroke. The warm water washes over her like a fresh start, and for now, that’s enough.

 She tries to apply lotion, but her right hand throbs with pain. In her rush to wash herself earlier, she forgot about the injury. Wincing, she rubs lotion on her body, applying it here and there, determined to feel somewhat put together. Afterward, she searches for comfortable clothes to slip into.

Just as she pulls on a soft t-shirt, a knock sounds at the door, and it swings open without waiting for her permission. Ugh! This is exactly why she craves her space and privacy—who just barges into someone’s room like that?!

“No need to mumble to yourself, you know. You can tell me directly,” he says, his tone teasing. She stares at him in surprise. Was she really voicing her thoughts out loud? Whatever. She shrugs it off, not caring enough to respond. 

“Are you still mad?” he asks, but I don’t answer him. I keep struggling to button my shirt, my hand throbbing with pain.

“Asking for help won’t hurt, Miss Qwane,” he says, and I watch as he walks toward me. He gently turns me around to face him, our eyes locking. 

 I can’t help but hold my breath as his fingers deftly work the buttons, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary. The ticklish sensation dances across my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. I glance up at him, searching for any hint of his thoughts.

“See? Not so hard to ask for help,” he says with a small smirk, his eyes sparkling with mischief. 

I roll my eyes, trying to maintain a facade of annoyance, but it’s hard when he’s standing so close, his warmth enveloping me. “I didn’t need your help,” I manage to say, though the protest feels weak, even to me.

He finishes buttoning my shirt and steps back slightly, giving me space but still watching me intently. 

“You know, it’s okay to lean on someone every now and then,” he replies softly. There’s a sincerity in his voice that makes me pause.

I take a deep breath, feeling the tension in my chest ease just a little. Maybe he’s right, but admitting that feels like admitting defeat. Instead, I just shrug and look away, trying to mask the flutter of something stirring inside me at his concern.

His hands reach for my shirt, and he starts to button it for me. Each touch brushes against my skin, and I can’t help but feel a ticklish sensation coursing through me. The warmth of his hands makes it hard to focus on anything else. I glance up at him, caught between annoyance and the unexpected comfort of his presence.

He scoffs, “Sure you can, right, Miss Qwane?” He strides toward me, and I instinctively shift back, but he keeps advancing. I can’t move any farther; the mirror table blocks my escape. He stands directly in front of me, closing the distance.

“Your wound is bleeding,” he says, his voice dropping to a serious tone. 

I roll my eyes, irritation bubbling up inside me. He should’ve just said that from the start instead of acting all smug! I glance down at my arm, noticing the small stain seeping through my shirt. 

“Great,!” I mutter, frustration creeping into my voice.Just what I needed!

He steps closer, concern etched across his face. 

“You need to take care of that,” he insists, his gaze locked onto the wound.

 “Let me help you.”

I shake my head, unwilling to show any weakness.

 “I don’t need your help,” I snap, but the defiance sounds hollow even to me. 

“Miss Qwane,” he says gently, “you can’t keep ignoring this.” His tone softens, and for a moment, the annoyance fades as I see genuine care in his eyes. 

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