Obsessed with Me - When she rejected him, he set out to destroy her - book 1 (12 page)

Everyone stops to look at me.

My voice sounds shrill and strange – like it belongs to someone else.

I think Ashwin’s upcoming marriage, his multiple counts of infidelity and the betrayal by Rheema has left me on a precipice.

Through my fog of disappointment, I can tell that my mental stability right now is questionable. 

Surprised looks are exchanged.

“And
nice
? Really? Is that how you see him?
Nice
? Cos he’s not
nice
at all! He’s a fucking jerk!”

Some of them look to Tarago for …fuck knows what.

“As for crying over him – why are you guys so fucking nosey? It’s
my
private life.”

Suzette rushes into the dining-room to see what the commotion is all about.

“Hey!” she snarls. “
Hoe jou bek
(shut your mouth)!”

I give her the finger.

Her jaw drops. She spins her head to look at Tarago in a did-you-see-that? look.

He grins and sits back ready to be entertained.

“I think it’s the curry powder she’s eating,” Anneline mutters. “Gives you a temper.”

Everyone laughs.

“Shaddup! All of you, just shaddup!”

Anneline holds up her hands in a surrendering motion while everybody quiets down.

I turn to Julia. “Can I please have some coffee?”

With her usual contemptuous look, she pours me a cup of coffee, then slaps it on the table in front of me, spilling it all over the table cloth and some of it on the white top that I’m wearing.

Bad move.

Without thinking, I grab the cup and fling the contents into her face.

She gasps and looks at me.

“Oops!” I say with my hand on my mouth.

With a snarl, she takes a step towards me.

“Don’t!” I say, jumping to my feet and kicking back my chair. “I will kick the shit out of you, no matter what your size, bitch!”

She glances at Tarago – he’s laughing like the jackass he is.

“Vyf, you can’t take her on,” Jooste says, also laughing.

Ignoring him, I keep my eye on her.

Furious at my insolence and unable to help herself, she lunges at me and tries to slap me. I duck and she grabs a handful of my hair. But I’m ready for her – I twist around, grab the wine bottle on the table and slam it into her ribs.

She gasps but doesn’t release my hair.

I’ve dropped the wine bottle so I whirl around in her grasp, and slam my elbow into her ribs – the same part I hit her a moment ago. When she buckles in pain, I stamp her foot hard with my heel and smash the back of my wrist into her nose. Finally, I deliver a karate kick to her stomach – one my sensei would be proud off.

In spite of all that, she lands a solid blow to my face, then releases my hair.

But with a snarl, Charlene flys at me.

As I move backwards, I reach for two wine bottles on the table. They’re half-finished, not empty, but they’ll have to do.

Closing my eyes, I clap the bottles in front of her. Glass and wine rains downs on all of us. Everybody at the dining table gets up and moves away from the fight. Except Tarago, he watches, a smile on his face.

              Charlene looks at me, her eyes wide with shock and fright.

I assume my fighting stance – feet apart and slightly behind each other, knees bent, hands in front of my face proffering the jagged ends of two wine bottles.

Charlene gauges, her eyes darting between the broken bottles I’m wielding and my face, her breath in spurts.

I glance at the bottles in my hand, then at her. “Shiraz or Merlot, bitch?”

Appearing mesmerized by the bottles in my hands, she slowly backs away towards her niece who lies on the floor groaning.

“
Jy is a mullertjie
(you are nuts),” she says, wagging her index finger at me, her nostrils large enough to see her brain.

She backs away, picks up Julia and leads her out of the room.

“And knock before you enter my fucking ROOM!” I yell behind them.

When I look around the room, I see frightened faces. My eyes fall on Suzette.

“I am Tanin. You remember my name and you use it, understand? Call me coolie again, mess with me again and I will kick the shit out of you. As for me sitting at your dining table – get used to it cos I plan to stay.”

Her jaw falls as she looks at me in disbelief. Then she whirls to look at her brother. “Tarago, you going to let her speak to me like that?”

I look at Tarago. His eyes are fixed on my face, an amused smile on his face.

He opens his mouth to speak.

“Shut up!” I say, pointing the jagged bottle at him. “Don’t say a fucking word!”

He jumps to his feet and I think to myself – I’m going to get it now. I’m out of control, even I can tell that. But, to my surprise, he raises his palms in a motion of surrender.

Suzette cocks her head and looks at him, her jaw dragging.

He shrugs.

She looks at me again, opens her mouth to speak, then shuts it.

My eye is throbbing, my lip is split, my scalp burns and I’m covered in glass and alcohol, but I take a deep breath, hold my head up and stride out of the dining room.

“Where did you learn to fight like that, vyf?” Hanlie asks as I walk away.

I give a dismissive wave. No use telling them that I trained for five years in Taikodokaie and that I was a star pupil. Months before I could obtain my black belt, we had to leave the US and return to South Africa as my mother was diagnosed with renal failure.

It meant that I had to say goodbye to my black belt. None of the other Martial arts school around me wanted to grade me for my black belt, so I just dropped it.

I get to my room and quickly lock my door and the inter-leading door.

Almost immediately, Tarago knocks at the inter-leading door. “Open the door vyf.”

“No, go away!”

“I just want to see if you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, just go away.” I shouldn’t be saying this – it tantamounts to ‘no’ but right now, I’m shaking and feeling really vulnerable.

“Please understand, Tarago. Please.”

“Okay, sure.” He goes away.

I strip off my clothes, get into the shower to wash off all the wine and broken glass out of my body and hair. As I shower, I burst into tears.

I slide down onto the shower floor and sob my heart out. I’ve changed – I’ve become aggressive, brash, vulgar and I’m not the same person I was before I entered Tarago’s world. I no longer know who I am anymore.

Right now, I want my mom. I want Ashwin. I want my sisters’ kind words.

I don’t want to be here at all.

I’m so tired of pretending to be strong. I simply hate this place. I hate Tarago.

I wish he was dead.

****

When the adrenalin wears off, once again, reality kicks in – how the hell could I have done what I did? They could have kicked my butt from here to Timbuktu.
              Both of them together could have really taken me apart. And Tarago – I was so disrespectful towards him? In his own house?

What was I thinking? Who am I these days?

Now I am afraid of the maids, afraid that they will seek revenge. At night, I lock my door. During the day, I serve my own food and coffee for fear that they may tamper with it.

For a day or two people tiptoe around me. Sure, I should be happy that they are, but I feel isolated and shunned by everyone.

Then some changes take place. Some peculiar ones.

When I enter the dining room, Suzette stays put. Does not take her food and high-tail her OCD arse out of the room like the bitch usually does.

Once or twice I catch her looking at me with pursed lips. It is a stare that tells me that she has not forgotten what I did to her and that I should watch my back.

As for Julia and Charlene – overnight they become polite, helpful and absolutely respectful. No more throwing coffee at me, they call me
Mejuffro
, not Miss America, and …they
knock
before they enter my room. Knock!

Baffling.

Now they appear curious about me and try to make conversation with me. I do keep them at a distance because I’m not sure if I can trust them as yet.

When I see Julia with Plaster of Paris over her nose, I feel really bad. I march up to Tarago.

At the sight of me, he pretends to cower.

“Stop that!” I say and sit next to him.

His looks at me.

“I, eh …I want to pay for Julia’s medical expenses.” I point at my nose. “I feel bad.” To my horror my eyes fill with tears.

“Vyf?” Tarago’s voice is confused, but tender, which causes more tears. They just slide down my cheeks.

“It’s not in my n…nature to f…fight,” I stammer, “to hurt someone. To hurt a w…woman.” I wipe away tears with the back of my hand. “I want to pay for all her expenses and give her some time off.”

He smiles and nods as if he’s happy with my display of conscious. “Don’t worry about all that. I paid for it all
and
doubled her pay for this month. That’s why your arse is not in jail for assaulting a staff member right now.”

“Oh. Thanks. ”

We sit in silence for a few moments.

“You want to wrestle me?”

“Fuck off!” I say with a smile on my face.

He laughs. “I didn’t know you could fight like that.”

I look at the floor.

“I could arrange mud-wrestling …”

“Shaddup, Tarago.”

He grabs me into a playful headlock. “Seriously, you’re really turning me on these days.

I shrug him off, but smile.

Since I’m taking care of things, I decide to tackle Sipho at the front gate.

First I prep Bogas, my driver. As I do, his face lights up. “I can most certainly do that,
Mejuffro
,” he says. “Yeees!”

When we get to the front gate, he honks for Sipho.

Sipho bursts from his booth looking pissed.

“Why are you hooting (honking)?” Sipho says, his nostrils as large as the stop sign in front of us, his eyes as red as the stop sign in front of us. “This is a residentiaaaal area. You cannot hoot here. What is your probleeeem?”

“Sipho, there is a man coming in for an interview as front security guard,” Bogas says in Xhosa, ignoring his chastising. “A black man. Big, buff guy. Send him in when he does. Miss Tanin and I will be expecting him, okay?”

Sipho’s beady black eyes shift from Bogas to me, then to Bogas again. After blinking rapidly, he says, “Whaaat do you mean? I am the front security guard and Leso is the night guard. So …?”

Bogas nods. “
Ja
, but I am fed up with the waiting to be let in, so Miss Tanin and I want to maybe bring in some fresh blood to help with that. To ease the delays we face at the gate. We have authority from
Meneer
Jakobus, so we are interviewing new staff.”

A pregnant pause.

Sipho looks so confused that I have to put my hand in front of my mouth to suppress a giggle.

“
Meneer
is not heppy?” Sipho asks.

“No, no, no,
we
are not heppy. That’s the problem.”

“You are not heppy?”

Bogas shakes his head.

Another pregnant pause.

“O…kay,” Sipho finally says. “Okay. Okay. I will let him in. Okay.”

“Thank you,” Bogas says. “Now you have a nice day.” He drives off leaving Sipho standing and staring at us.

The moment we’re out of earshot, we both burst out laughing. Roar with laughter for the duration of our trip to
Cavendish
Square
where I plan to shop for a gift for my Aunt Saras and Uncle Anand’s anniversary.

When we return that evening, the gates open the moment our car is visible to Sipho. He even throws in a “Good evening!’ and a smile. Without showing his teeth though.

Priceless.

Chapter Fourteen

“You should learn how to swim.”

I look up at the source of the voice. It’s Charlene. Nearby, Julia lingers, avoiding eye-contact with me. “Then Meneer won’t throw you into the pool.”

“I was thinking about it,” I say, accepting the olive branch they have been extending all week.

“You should take lessons from Pixie,” Julia pipes up, in a nervous voice.

I turn to look at her. “Pixie? Who’s she?”

She walks over to me. “She used to be a Springbok swimming champ. Now she takes care of the pool and her man, he takes care of the gardens. But she can swim like a fish,
Mejuffro
.”

Mejuffro
. Not Miss America.

“Oh, really?”

Julia puts out her hand. “Come, we take you to her. She’s lives in the granny-flat.”

“
Ja, kom
,” Charlene says.

“Okay.” I slip on my shoes and follow them around the manor to Pixie, the former Springbok

Swimming champ.

When we reach the ground-floor flat on the side of the manor, hidden from the rest of the manor, Charlene knocks loudly on it.

No answer.

Charlene looks at her watch and shakes her head. “Get up, Pixie!” she yells.

No answer.

“Pixie jou fokin’ teef, maak die deur oop!
( Pixie you slut, open the fucking door!)
”

“Hey!” I whisper at Charlene, stunned that she could talk to Pixie like that.

Charlene waves me off. 

Then, we hear Pixie. “Hey,
voetsack (get lost)
!”

Julia and Charlene exchange knowing smiles.

“Open the door! We have a visitor for you,” Julia says.

“
Fok jou
!”

“It’s 2 PM – how can you sleep during the day?”

“
Jou ma se foking moor, Charlene (Your mother’s cunt!)!”

Oh crap! I take a couple steps back, worried that there is going to be a fight or she’s going to hurl something at us.

Charlene rolls her eyes. “She’s got whisky!” 

Immediately the door is thrown open and we are greeted by a waft of cheap wine. Upon closer examination, we see a short, thin, bird-like woman with no front teeth and who looks absolutely pissed with us for waking her up. She looks at our hands, sees no whisky and snarls. “
Jou
foking
…”