I run all the way to Church Street, search frantically for street numbers. I find a four on a wall behind an overgrown shrub. Over there is an eight created in blue mosaic tiles. The next one must be ten.

I know it’s ten from the faint screaming coming from inside the thick walls of the house.

“Nomkhita-a!” I shout.

A garden wall runs at head height all around the place. Before I can think my body scrambles up the thorny tree onto the wall. Something tears into my black jeans but I ignore the pain and step swiftly along the narrow wall, my arms outstretched as if I am surfing the thin ledge. I can see a pale blue door but I don’t bother with it. The screaming is Nomkhita and its coming from the window.

“Nomkhita!” I kick my black boot into the glass. It shatters. I feel a sharp stab in my shin, scream again, “Nomkhita!”

“Yonela! Help me!”

I shove my hand in and force the window latch up. I swing the window open, tear the curtain to one side. Nomkhita is still in her red skirt from this morning, but her shirt is missing and her bra is ripped, one breast almost bare. The boy’s own shirt is torn open, his buttons broken. There is no sign of wetsuits.

“Help me-e-e!” Nomkhita screams. She is flailing towards me but the boy drags her back.

“Haaa!” I roar. “Haaaa!” I can’t stop roaring – as if this might stop a rapist.

The boy lets Nomkhita go and tries to shove me back out but I hang on the curtain rail and kick with my right leg. His head snaps back. I kick with my left, send him sprawling. The curtain rail snaps so I crash to the floor. I cling to the broken end of the metal rod, stab it at him.

“Are you mad?” he screams, but I jab at him, puncture his caramel chest. Three times I tattoo him with circular cuts, leave bite marks on his naked skin.

“Stop! It’s not what you think!”

***

Tell us: If the boy says, ‘It’s not what you think’ what might be going on? Or is he just lying?