The hand weaving through my scalp applies more pressure when I make to lift my head in her direction, tugging gently on my hair. A sigh slips past my lips, there is no point trying, Clarissa won’t give back my phone. I shouldn’t demand it since all I have gotten is a truckload of news with captions that send my already broken heart into overdrive.

But I still want to see it. To read the gossip tabs about the women he dines with. It is the only way to keep track of him, to know he is fine, if we still have a future together.

Curling into a foetal position with my head resting on Clarissa’s laps, I sniff and pull the duvet to my chin. Tears line my eyes, I blink to stop them from falling but they roll down my cheeks and onto her skin. She doesn’t protest neither does she complain, she rubs circles on my back like she has been doing for the past fifteen days until I quiet down.

The women, I have lost count of the number of women he has dined with since his arrival while ignoring his wife’s emails and texts. He reads them, I know he does, if not the emails, then the WhatsApp messages, the blue tick gives him away. The timezones are different but he should have replied at least one of them at his leisure time. I sigh.

Leisure time he spends with women that are the exact opposite of me: french-speaking, rich, white socialites. Yes, I googled them, one of the many stupid things his prolonged silence made me do. I scoured the internet for every available piece of information on them, which has only led me to stalking their social media pages and feeling inferior.

None of them are students. They are all successful businesswomen who wear their hair up to reveal flawless makeup, creamy skin that has never known hunger or strife.

Clarissa nudges me, muttering something about food, I shake my head, I don’t want to eat. But she will have her way, I know that, if the only way she can get food into me is by shoving it down my nose through a pipe, she will do it without a moment’s hesitation.

Another tap on my back, I grudgingly shift position with the duvet wrapped around me.

She giggles, her hip sways as she saunters to the kitchen and my eyes scan our room for my phone. I can deal with the gossip but I can’t deal with his silence on our one month anniversary. He hasn’t quelled the rumours or conspiracies talking about a strange lady who might be his lover and it irked me to no end, she is his wife. I don’t know who started it or how a picture of me dropping him at his office got out but I am tired of the theories.

All thanks to the tinted window, they didn’t get my face but they got his, a solemn expression of affection as he stared at my retreating car. On a normal day, he looks at me with fondness but in the picture, it was different, like he was in love. His stance was relaxed, his eyes had a dreamy look and a smile played on his lips with his hands shoved into his pockets. The happiest I have ever seen my husband in a picture of himself alone.

Whoever took that shot must have been too busy trying to capture his face to take note of my plate number. The logical part of me is glad I am spared from the spotlight but the emotional part of me isn’t. Those socialites will stay away from him if they are aware of his marital status. A status that has come into question since his travel. Talk about, is the billionaire bachelor finally ready to settle down? I scoff, he has settled, he is married.

Swiping at the tears staining my cheeks, I muster a smile when Clarissa returns with a tray containing a plate of waffles and a mug which she hands over to me without a word.

The curtains are closed but she hugs herself with a lost look. Her nipples poke through her spaghetti strap crop top and her oversized shorts ride up to her thighs when she sits cross-legged in front of me, eyeing me intently until I take a long sip from the mug.

Whipped coffee.

The smile I offer her this time is more genuine, her lips curve upward in a similar smile. Setting the tray onto the stool by the bedside, I pull her in for a hug she gladly returns.

I don’t deserve her or her friendship and maybe it is time for me to stop sulking and start acting like the adult I am and show her appreciation, treat her as the best friend she is with the loads of cash I have at my disposal. My heart grows heavy, if I use the card, it will only buttress Brandon’s point about me being with him for what I can gain.

“Can I please have my phone?” I ask when we pull apart, her nose scrunches and she crosses her arms on her chest. “I need to know what’s going on in school and around me.” She shakes her head like I expected of her. “Please, I won’t open any other app.”

The stony expression that crosses her face shows I already lost this argument before it even started. She is more stubborn than Brandon. “Nothing is going on in school.”

Pulling out my phone from under the red satin covered pillows, her eyes flit over my screen, she continues, “Your timetable shows you have no classes today or tomorrow.”

I frown, giving her full access to my calendar was a bad idea but I can’t bring myself to regret that decision. Going online right now is bad for my mental health which she is such a strong advocate of, still, I want to do it, I want to see an image of him today.

Tucking the phone back to its former position, she clasps her hands and my eyes fall on the loose thread of her black short, she needs a makeover. I spare a glance at this room that was once my home, the photos of us hanging from the wall and my breath quickens.

The place needs a renovation, a replacement of most, if not, everything. Clarissa clears her throat, my gaze wanders to her face and she scowls when I continue smiling at her.

“You do have a meeting tomorrow but it can be skipped,” she finally says. My head falls to the side, I eye my selectively lazy best friend and she shrugs. “They won’t miss you.”

To both of our surprise, I ask, “Do you want to go out?”

“Will I drive?” My head bobs, she can do whatever she wants. “Yes, I want to go out.”

Hurrying to the wardrobe, she yanks clothes from it, making a mess on the floor and I scurry to the duffel bag under the study table to pick something more outdoor worthy. It feels odd to sleep at the house without Brandon, it’s cold and lonely. Clarissa turns sharply to me, my lips press into a line and my heart stills, I didn’t do anything wrong.

“Return to your food,” she orders with her hands akimbo. My mouth opens and closes, my eyes dart to the barely eaten waffles. I frown, I don’t like this girl sometimes, she is worse than Ma when it involves my feeding. “You need something in your belly. Food.”

We stare at each other with her having the height advantage, my shoulders sag in defeat and I look down at her toenails free of polish, it was my duty to polish them for her as she did mine. A hand clenches around my heart, I miss our girl moments and gossips.

“Clary, I don’t feel hungry,” I mutter but she’s already helping me to my feet and shoving me gently in the direction of the bed. Her hands on my back stop me from turning to face her. “I don’t want to eat.”

Nothing tastes right, Brandon walked away with my appetite. “Please, I’ll eat out.”

Everything I say falls on deaf ears, she sits me down and squats between my legs. “My heart hurts,” I whisper and place a hand over my chest. “It hurts too much.” The pad of her thumb brushes my cheek, I realise they are wet with my tears and my lips quiver.

“He won’t talk to me.” Tears dot my hands resting on my legs. “I didn’t kiss Joshua back.”

“I know,” she says and I choke on a sob, I don’t want a future without Brandon in it. I want him, I need him in my life. Hiding my face in my palms, my shoulders tremble as silent cries take over me and her arms wrap around me. “It’s okay, you are okay, El.” I shake my head, I am not okay, I am breaking down from this distance between us. It isn’t making my heart grow fonder, it’s leaving me in pains. “He just needs time.”

“Two weeks is enough time.”

Prying my hands open, she smiles at me but I don’t return it. My head connects with the pillow, she joins me on the bed and I cling to her like a lifeline. She pulls the duvet over us, I tighten my hold on her arm. Her breath tickles my neck when she giggles, we stay in silence with my back pressed against her chest. As the taller person, I should be behind but I don’t care. I sniff, she squeezes my hand, I just want to be in familiar arms.

* * *

I insert a chip covered in brown sauce into my mouth, barely tasting it. Stifling a groan at the heap of chips left in my plate, I scowl at Clarissa sitting across me with an empty plate in front of her. This place is not worth the hype, maybe it is but I am too tired to notice. Whatever the case, and like Clarissa said, from now on, we only roll in Gucci.

Thinking about it now causes me to laugh, her straight face after she hollered at the sight of the black card and proceeded to list all the Gucci things we will get. I snicker, she arches a brow. Her shirt lifts to reveal toned stomach when she leans on the table, I pout and cast a glance at our empty surrounding, we should have come out sooner.

Her voice is small when she asks, “Are you okay?” I nod, maybe not perfect but I feel better than I did earlier in the day. She eyes my food warily, I insert another chip into my mouth, then take a large bite of the chicken. She applauds me, I smile. “Good girl.”

For her sake and mine, I continue shoving chips down my throat until the heap reduces, I can’t have her worrying or pointing out how visible my collarbone has become. I also have classes to attend, I don’t want to faint during lectures due to my negligence.

Brandon is fine, living life to the fullest like a single man, I should be able to do the same. My eyes lower to my hand on my laps, the exquisite ring on my fourth finger, I have his around my neck, together with the pendant he threw away. Having them so close to me offers some sort of comfort and I refuse to mimic his new lifestyle. We are still a couple.

I like to think he needs space, more time like Clarissa said, she’s wiser than I am when it comes to relationship matters. My eyes close, I hope to God she is right on this. That all the women he goes out with are platonic friends or even better, business acquaintances, partners. He never mixes business with pleasure, he promised to never cheat on me.

What if my misdemeanour pushed him to the wall?

“Are you ready?” Her voice pulls me out of my reverie, I nod and push my plate aside. I hate food wastage as much as she does but I can’t bring myself to finish my meal.

“I’m sorry,” I say. She waves off my apology, Brandon’s words return to torment me and I suck in my lower lip, afraid to speak. “Do you think I’m always sorry?”

Confusion crosses her feature, I rub my clammy hands over my jean and sigh. “I mean, do you think it’s so easy for me to apologise?” She looks on in bewilderment, I shake my head, that’s not the right question to ask. “He says I apologise but I don’t change.” The frown that takes over her lips causes me to add, “Not in those words but he implied it.”

She takes a seat beside me, I inhale the faint scent of her perfume. “Yes, it’s so easy for you to apologise but you always back it up with actions.” I smile, tempted to ask if she’s saying that because we are friends. “Most people don’t do that. Admitting your wrong and apologising is one step to fixing the problem and you try more than anyone I know to make things right even if it leaves you hurting.” I nod, I guess she is right, I am hurting right now but I want us to work. “Brandon does sound like an ass,” she mutters, I laugh.

Yes, he can be an ass sometimes. But I will never admit that out loud to her. The details I gave her about our marriage has her thinking of him as a great husband which is what he is and I don’t want her perception of him to change. We stand, his voice floats into my head and I pull Clarissa back to the seat. She glares daggers at me, I pout, I understand her need to leave but I need to ask one last question, I hate how insecure I have grown.

Propping her elbows on the table, she scowls and I lick my lips. I need to ask. “Don’t lie to me, okay?” I start, she nods with a wary look. “Do you think I’m a whore?” Her jaw slacks, she blinks and I continue, “That I have whoring tendencies? Be honest, please.”

“Elna Amahle Khumalo. What is wrong with you?” Tears prickle my eyelids at her tone, I take a deep, calming breath, we are in public, I can’t cry. She hooks a finger under my jaw to get a better view of my face. “Did he say that to you?” I shake my head. “Good for him because if he did, you are leaving him.” I manage a smile, her frown deepens into a scowl and I clamp a hand over her wrist when she starts ransacking her bag with anger.

A sigh escapes her, she stares at me in that way she does her parents when they video call her. It is her turn to say, “Don’t lie to me.” I gulp, she scans my face and I sink my teeth into my lower lip. “Are you happy with him?” I nod. “Are you happy, like happy?”

Faking a smile that has her head angling to the side, I chuckle. “I am. Brandon makes me happy but when he gets mad, he turns evil, he says mean stuff,” I conclude with a pout. Her eyes narrow, I lick my lips and smile as I say, “Besides, my name is Elna Stark now.” She ruffles my hair, letting it tumble down my chest in silky waves and I hiss when she sneers at the face I make, glad to be rid of that lingering feeling of melancholy. “Not fair.”

Our laughter dies down, my gaze lowers to the table when she starts inspecting my face. “How often does he get mad?” I shrug, she squints and I mumble a noncommittal reply, I’m not comfortable discussing him like this. She needs to know only the good side of him. It’s an arranged marriage but we can work things out like normal couples, he deserves another chance, we all do. Satisfied with my reply, she asks, “Is he violent?”

I reply in the negative and her shoulders visibly sag, I smile, if he was violent, we will be divorced by now. My heart clenches, I won’t condone physical abuse but this silence is emotional torture, far worse than him being physical. Something stirs in my chest, I repeat our vows to myself. Brandon is a good man, he tries his best, this is all my fault.

“Do you love him?” I nod, unsure what she is getting at, she knows the answers to these questions already. The brewing annoyance dissolves at the smile she offers me and I plaster a fake grin on my lips. “Love is all about loving, fighting and reconciling, you will be fine.” She squeezes me into a hug, I sniff. “But you have to make me a promise?”

“What?”

Our table grows quiet as I retrieve money from my purse to foot our bills. We head for the door in silence, my chest puffs with pride and she slides her arm around my elbow.

“I don’t want to be that friend you lie to,” she starts and my heart flutters. She is a sister I never had. “You have to tell me if he is not treating you right so we can deal with his fuck up.” She cracks her knuckles to support her words, laughter tumbles out of my lips.

We stop at the car, my hand lingers on the door handle of the passenger’s side. “He is a good man,” I tell her but she doesn’t seem to believe me. “I promise. He is a good man.”

The familiar voice of her ringtone cuts through the air, we slide into the car, she takes her seat behind the wheel and I relax my head against the window. Her phone rings again, I motion for her to take it, I can do with a few minutes of silence to myself.

“El,” she calls out, my eyes follow the voice to Clarissa and I wonder how she got outside without my notice. I zone off an awful lot these days, I need a grip. “You are not a whore.” I pout, I know that. “You are just the girl who can’t swallow her husband’s cum.”