I should have known. It’s the story of my life.

Stupid me, thinking Sello might be something good, and doing my happy blue and green drawings. I don’t deserve anything good or happy.

At first, all I can think is ‘Don’t let him have hurt anyone. Don’t let Sello have been in prison for hurting anyone, and especially not a girl, or girls.’

Next, I remember how he half-guessed what happened to me. Why? How? Because he knows how those things work? Getting a girl puza, or spiking her drink, a jackrolling spree?

Now the anger takes over. Anger at Sello, anger at myself.

I shouldn’t have trusted him.

The day for my next lesson with him doesn’t come quickly enough. My rage builds and builds, boiling over the moment I go storming into the Community Centre kitchen where he’s leaning against the counter, waiting for me.

“So!” I fire it at him, and see his smile fade. “You’ve been in prison, right?”

His face goes still, expressionless. “Who told you? In fact, it was a juvenile correctional centre, Nomi.”

“Really?” I spit. “So you started your life of crime when you were still under age? Am I supposed to be impressed? What did you do? Get some girl senseless so you could say she consented to sex and–”

“What?” He’s shocked.

I hesitate, but then I remind myself of my motto: hurt people before they can hurt me.

“How come you immediately guessed the sort of thing Leleka and his crew are into when I was telling you about them? Because you know exactly how it goes? Because you’re the same as they are!”

“You can believe that of me?” I can see his shock giving way to anger, and to something else I don’t understand. “Thank you, Nomi. Thank you very much.”

He’s shoving his laptop back into its bag, and I notice that his hands are shaking.

“What … what are you doing?” I ask, somehow losing hold of the anger and beginning to feel frightened.

“Removing myself from the company of someone who has such a disgusting opinion of me.” He loops the strap of the bag over his shoulder. “Find someone else to help you with spreadsheets, Nomi. I can’t do it anymore.”

“Wait–” I start to say, but he’s already past me. “Sello?”

He’s at the doorway before he stops and looks back at me.

“For your information, I started my ‘life of crime’ very young, when I was so small my father and his gang could put me through tiny little openings into the places they were burgling, so I could then open a door or bigger window from inside for them to enter through. If I protested, if my mother tried to stop them using me, we both got the sjambok. I was too young to know it was wrong; I just knew I hated doing it. Then when I got older, I thought it was a normal way of life, taking stuff we could sell … like a job. It was all I knew. And obeying my father was the only way to keep the peace, keep my mother and me safe from him – until the day I couldn’t take it anymore. Then I let myself get caught, because it meant my father was caught too. He’s still in prison.”

“So–”

“The correctional centre wasn’t exactly a holiday.” Sello makes a fist with his scarred hand and looks down at it. “But there were good people waiting to help me when I was released. I’m rehabilitated. I’m giving back. But why am I bothering to tell you this? You’ve already made up your mind about me. I’m out of here. Have a nice life, Nomi.”

He swings around and strides away from me.

“Sello, wait…

I stop. I don’t know what to say. What to do. I just stand there, I don’t know for how long, with my head bent, staring at the metal toecaps of my boots. They don’t give me any courage now. I feel small and helpless.

Oh Sello!

Then I recognise the other emotion that I saw, mixed up with his anger. It was hurt, I realise now. I’ve hurt him.

Understanding that forces me to act. I rush out of the kitchen, out of the Centre, nearly crashing into an old man coming in. I look for Sello, but don’t see him.

How long did I stand there after he left? I start walking the way we’ve taken after our lessons, me going home, him to the station. I walk faster, and faster. I start to run. Still I don’t catch him, don’t see him.

How fast was he walking?

What if he’s already at the station, getting on a train?

I’m sprinting now. People stare at me, and some kids shout something, jeering at me or cheering me on, I don’t know.

Still no Sello. I reach the station. I’m out of breath, in a panic, desperate to find him. If he gets on a train–

He’s nowhere. I can’t find him.

The truth hits me like a fist. Sello has walked out of my life, and it’s my own fault.

Gone. I can’t bear it. I never cry – ever – but there’s a rush of something hot and wet at the back of my eyes. I blink madly and try to press my shaking lips tightly together.

I hang around the station, searching the crowds, watching every departing train, hoping to see Sello.

A great ache is growing inside me. Leleka and his gang abused my body, and hurt my mind, but I’ve always thought of my heart as simply a physical organ keeping me alive.

Now I know different. My heart is broken.

I deserve it. I hate the idea of people judging me, but I was so ready to judge Sello.

At home I can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t draw. There’s no way to find Sello and bring him back into my life. I don’t have his phone number, and I don’t know where he lives, except that it’s somewhere in Klipspruit.

Wait. It comes to me in the middle of the night. Next morning I rush to the Community Centre. It’s hopeless. I don’t know if they can’t or won’t, but no-one gives me Mama Thlapi’s contact details. She took my phone number in case she ever needed to cancel any of our sessions, but I was so hardegat I made a point of not taking hers.

I’ll have to wait until I’m due to see her again. I walk the streets, making mad plans, to go house-to-house in Klipspruit, to travel into Jozi and look for him at UJ.

“No drawings this week?” Mama Thlapi says when she arrives at the Centre where I’m already waiting, the first time I’ve ever got there before her.

“No.” I get to the point. “Mama, I need you to tell me how to find Sello Mthombeni. I … I did something, I hurt him, and he left. I was wrong. I need to tell him I’m … that I’m sorry. D’you have his number? His address would be better. I need to see him, not just talk on the phone.”

“Sorry, I don’t have his contact details,” she says.

“Your neighbour?” I’m urgent. “He said he met you visiting this man?”

“Ah yes. My understanding was that he is some sort of mentor to Sello. I can phone him after we’ve talk–”

“Now,” I interrupt her.

She gives me a long look. I’m terrified my rudeness will make her refuse, but she does it, phones the man and writes down a phone number and address.

“Here.” She passes the piece of paper to me, and I read what’s on it.

Usually, on this day, at this time, Sello would be on his way to give me my lesson, so maybe he’s at home.

“I have to go.” I’m already on my way, but then I have to turn back. “I might need some extra money to get there.”

To my surprise, she gets out her purse. She says, “This counts as positive progress, Nomi. You’re taking action to make something better. I’m happy to see it.”

I remember to thank her.

***

Tell us what you think: What will Nomi say to Sello if she finds him? Would Sello have been more understanding if Nomi had told him about her own past?