Obsessed with Me - When she rejected him, he set out to destroy her - book 1 (14 page)

“Her opinion doesn’t matter,” he says in a low voice.

“Why didn’t you tell her that, Tarago?” I demand through my tears. “Why did you let her humiliate me like that? In front of everybody too?”

“It’s Suzette, Tanin. Why do you care?”

“Because it hurts, Tarago,” I say, pointing to my chest. “You have no idea how soul-destroying this can of behavior is to people like me.”

“But why can’t you just tell her to fok off? I would do that.”

“You don’t get it, Tarago.” I turn my back on him.

He opens the shower door and steps inside.

Ignoring the fact that his shirt and jeans are getting soaked, he takes me in his arms. “
Ek is jammer
(I am sorry).”

I push him away. “It’s not enough, Tarago.”

“I will talk to Suzette,” he says bear-hugging me.

“It’s too late. I’ve been publically humiliated. It’s the worst experience I’ve had in my life and it hurts so much.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m glad I’m not really your wife, you know that?”

“What?”

“When I think of a husband, I think of a knight in shining armour. Someone who protects you and your heart from anyone who wants to hurt you. It’s a good thing you’re not married, Tarago. You’d make a lousy husband.”

I turn off the taps and step out of the shower, leaving him dripping in it.

“Tanin, c’mon…”

“Your wife would be very disappointed in you, Tarago,” I say in a bitter voice as I drape a towel around my body.

He steps out of the shower and strips off his wet clothes.

My desire to hurt, after being hurt, peaks.

“That is what I liked about Ashwin – in spite of his cheating ways, he protected me, cared for me, put me first.”

With his eyes on me, Tarago wraps a towel around his waist, his jaws now set.

“He knew how to be a man. He knew how to be a man to his woman. It came naturally to him. That is why I will
always
love him.”

He runs his fingers slowly through his hair, his eyes getting darker by the moment.

My look is defiant and I’m no longer crying. I want to maim right now – destroy and hurt as much as I am hurting, so I hurtle ahead.

“Even though he belongs to someone else, I still want him, and I will
always
want him. Anyone else …”

He wags his finger at me, his face darkening.

“…will be my
second
choice in life.”

“Tanin!

His hurt and anger energizes me. “Any opportunity I get, I would want to fuck him.”

With a snarl, his hand flies at my throat. He pushes me against the wall and puts his face in mine. “You watch what you say, you foking …foking …”

“Cheap whore?” My voice is taunting.

He shakes his head slowly. “You’re not a cheap whore, I paid a lot of money for you.”

“You didn’t pay for
me
.” I take his free hand and slide it between my thighs. “You paid for this. That’s all. Me is here,” I slide his hand up to my heart, “That’s where I am, Tarago. You could never buy
me,
you hear? Never!” Tears run down my cheeks again.

Breathing like he’s just run a marathon, he shoves me away. With a snarl, he turns around and slams his fist into a huge, gilded wall mirror, shattering it.

I watch stony-faced as he storms out of the room with blood dripping down his hand.

I’m happy I struck a chord. He must hurt like I am hurting, then only will I be happy.

God, I hurt so much these days.

****

I don’t go down to breakfast. It’s Saturday so everyone would be there and I really don’t fancy a post-mortem over hangover food.

By 11 AM, Julia, Charlene and Pixie are in my room, sporting worried looks.

“Foking teef (bitch!) Pixie says. “She needs a
peel
(dick) then she’ll be okay.

The other two ladies nod morosely.

“Do you want me to have a word with her?”

I smile and shake my head. Pixie sits at Suzette’s hips. If there is a fistfight, guess who’d win? But it is the thought that counts, so I give my real-life pixie a hug.

“This apartheid shit must stop, now,” Pixie says as she paces.

See, not all whites are racist pigs.

“I mean, it’s not like you’re a Kaffir or anything. You are a decent, educated, good looking, young, Indian woman.”

I stare at Pixie, dumbfounded, while Charlene and Julia murmur their agreement. A ‘Kaffir’ is a derogatory term for a black.

Strike what I just said – everyone around me, including members of my own family are fucking racists and racism stinks.

“Tarago had to have stiches to his hand,” Julia says.

“Oh?”

“Six.”

Crap, I didn’t know that. “Where …where is he now?”

They point to his room. “Didn’t return to the party last night.”

“Oh?” Now that’s news to me.

“Was very angry last night. That Suzette – I think she make him so angry.”

“Mm. That makes two of us.”

I can tell that they are dying to know what my real relationship with Tarago is. See, Tarago never shows any affection towards me in public. He just fights with me, teases me and goads me. But I sleep in his inter-leading room and since Tarago works form home, they never see me do any PA work as such. Hence the curiosity and suspiciousness.

Tarago stops talking to me and his visits cease. I’m on tenterhooks – is he going to give me the axe for all the mean things I said?

When Sunday arrives, I don’t wait till lunch time to leave the mansion – I leave the moment I awake.

As Bogas drives me to Rondebosch, I think about Tarago. I have to admit that I’m now disconcerted at Tarago’s anger or disappointment in me. He’s such a happy-go-lucky person that for him to be like this is almost …wrong.

We stop to pick up my gran.

She’s happy to see me and gives me a hug and a kiss.

But when she sees Bogas, she stiffens and clutches her bag.

“Gran, stop!” I whisper.

Her reaction is to grab my purse as well and hold it close to her.

I groan inwardly, then mutter, “She’s ill, Bogas. Please don’t take notice of her.”

He gives a dismissive wave.

I turn to her. “Gran, behave! These are my friends.”

“Friends with those kind of people?”

“Graaaaan!”

Suddenly, she’s fumbling for her shoes.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper.

“My shoes. One of them is missing.” She points to the Bogas, then at her feet.

Man, I feel like duct-taping her mouth and blindfolding her for the ride home.

As Bogas pulls into the driveway, I see my neighbor Botha, watering his garden. He’s a middle-aged white Afrikaner who’s been renting his property for seven years. He was furious when we moved next door. Gave us that there-goes-the-neighbourhood look.

Even though, to keep the peace, my mother instructed us to be polite to him and we all greet him, he ignores us.

But when I’m not looking, according to Bogas he stares at the Merc, his envy undisguised.

“I think, next time, you must arrive in the limo,
Mejuffro
,” Bogas says with a chuckle before he drives off.

“You shouldn’t be driving around with him,” Gran says.

I’m scared to ask but I do anyway. “Why not?”

“People will think you married a …” She waves in his direction.

Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!

Taking a deep breath and bracing myself for my gran’s upcoming
melee
with Lucky our maid, which takes place every Sunday, I enter the house.

Gran doesn’t disappoint. Today she has a list of complaints – the soaps are missing, the toilet paper is finishing really rapidly, Lucky was watching TV all day yesterday and that is why the place is such a mess ….

As usual, we beg Lucky not to take notice of her.

“Are you going to his wedding?” my mother asks.

I shake my head slowly. 

She scans my face.

“I can’t face everybody. It’s so embarrassing.”

“Take a hot guy with you,” Lima says.

“Yeah, take a really hot guy and that will make him eat his heart out,” Shyna says.

“Mm.” As if Tarago will allow me to do that. “Anyway, I didn’t get an invite.”

“But the invite is for all of us,” my mother points out.

I lift and drop my shoulders.

I don’t tell my mother that when I think about Ashwin’s upcoming wedding, a million hornets dance around my head.

“Listen,” I say, trying to change the subject, “I’m taking you all out to dinner. Let’s go.”

My mother protests.

“You need a break, Ma.”

The truth is, I don’t know when my gravy train comes to an end, so I might as well a little fun with Tarago’s credit card. After all, I earned it!

The steakhouse we visit is our family’s favorite and we all dive for the menu.

“I’m not eating here,” my gran says.

“Why, Gran? It’s my treat.”

She jerks her hand towards the kitchen which is bustling with chefs.

“What …do …you ...?”

“Ma!” my mother cries. “Stop it. Tanin is trying so hard to please us all.”

With a frown, I look at my gran, then back at the kitchen. She’s not happy with the fact that the chefs are black. “C’mon, gran,” I snap.
Suzette follows me all around!

She folds her arms across her chest and purses her lips.

There is a collective groan from all my family members.

“Look,” my mother says, “just order and eat. Don’t worry about …things.”

Too bad the mood is ruined.

I drop my gran off an hour earlier and head back to Clifton Manor.

As I drive, I think about Tarago – he probably faces the same difficulties I face with my gran, yet I am so hard on him.

Chapter Sixteen

It’s been a week since my fight with Tarago and I’m in the kitchen pouring over one of my mother’s recipe books with Julia, Charlene, Chester, Pixie and Naas.

Tarago enters the house with his bimbos in tow.

“What is that smell?” I hear them ask.

“Somebody’s ordered take out.”

In the kitchen, we all exchange amused glances, while Naas and Pixie look a little nervous.

Hanlie pops her head into the kitchen and sees me. “It’s coo…it’s Tanin!” she calls to the others. “She’s cooking.”

They all rush into the kitchen. “What are you doing?” Erika asks a surprised look on her face.

“I’m cooking a curry,” I say. “My mother’s recipe.”

“Why?” Hanlie asks.

I shrug. “I felt like some home-cooked food so I decided to cook for …” My hands sweeps over my friends in the kitchen.

Tarago stands at the entrance to the kitchen and leans against the door. His eyes shift around before they land on me.

“What?” I say. “Don’t any of you cook?”

They all shake their heads.

“Slicing and dicing is for people who don’t have cars,” Erika says.

“Or people who
don’t
need to tan,” Anneline mutters.

“Well,” I say stirring the pot on the stove and ignoring her dig, “I don’t have a car and I don’t need to tan.”

Tarago sits at the table.

All eyes fly to him.

“What?!” he asks.

“Just never saw you sit here before,” Hanlie says and takes a seat next to him.

Soon all four of them are sitting at the table watching me cook.

“Am I gonna get some of this currymuncher food?” Tarago asks.

“If you ask nicely,” I say from under my lashes.

I smile inwardly – he’s talking to me again?

“Mff.”

I smile.

He narrows his eyes at me. “You know when you smile, you don’t look vyf. You look a lot more.”

I chuckle. “Oh yeah? How much more?”

He twists his lips around as he thinks. “At least five and a half.”

I javelin the wooden spoon at him. He laughs and fends it off with his hands.

“You lucky that wasn’t a knife, Tarago,” Hanlie says.

“Yeah, I’d have aimed lower,” I say. “Turned you into a
meisie
(girl).

He just laughs.
I must say it’s really nice to hear him laugh again. I actually missed that. How fucked up is that? 

“I want some curry too,” Erika says in a demanding voice.

“Me too,” the other girls chorus.

I look at Charlene. She rolls her eyes.

“We gonna need more meat and potatoes, Charlene,” I say. “Please.”

She nods.

When we finally eat that night, we sit around the kitchen table with bottles of wine and dig in. Included at the table are Charlene, Chester Julia, Pixie and Naas.

“
Waar’s Suzette nou
? (Where’s Suzette now?)” Erika asks with a laugh.

“Her skin would peel on the spot if she saw these three sitting here,” Hanlie says.

“For sure,” Anneline says.

Everyone at the table is laughing and happy, which warms my heart.

“This is one of the best nights I’ve had had in a long time,” Erika slurs.

Everyone agrees.

Tarago doesn’t say much, he just looks at me, his face red and sweaty.

I maintain his eye-contact while I slowly lick the curry off my fingers.

When I walk onto the balcony to cool off, he’s behind me. He places his hands on either side of me on the balcony rails and presses himself against me.

Slowly, I turn around. He holds my face with his uninjured arm and steals a kiss. We smile at each other then hug. I can tell he’s as happy as I am to make his peace with me. When the others enter the balcony, he quickly moves away.

With all my finger-licking, he doesn’t visit.

Okay.

****

“Vyf!”

My eyelids flutter open.

“Vyf!” Tarago’s voice.

I look at the clock on the wall. 03:27 AM. “What the hell?” I mutter.

“Vyf!”

With a groan, I throw on a gown over my sleep shorts and shirt and run down the stairs.

I see Tarago standing at the bottom of the stairs, clutching a half-finished whisky bottle with his uninjured hand and swaying like he’s on a ship.

“Tarago? Are you drunk?”

“No. Not at all.”