Obsessed with Me - When she rejected him, he set out to destroy her - book 1 (5 page)

My eyelids get really heavy. Haven’t slept well since I lost my job, so I’m really exhausted.

I doze.

Chapter Five

Someone is shaking me.

“Hey!” a woman says to me. “Wake up!” She’s light-skinned, around fifty, plump and short. A slight limp makes her waddle. Her frizzy hair escapes from under the black-and-white scarf around her head. She wears a black and white maid’s uniform, flesh-toned stockings and white sneakers.

“Hi!” I croak, even though she only spoke Afrikaans.

She doesn’t bother to introduce herself, so I don’t either.

Behind her is a younger woman – also coloured (a mixture between black and white South Africans), thirtyish, tall and thin.

I get out of bed and rub my eyes, while they openly check me out. “
Meneer
wants you to join him at the party.”

“Oh.”

In the background, I hear music, laughter and the tinkling of glasses. I look at the clock on the wall – 7 PM. Crap! I slept for so long.

I get out of bed and look out of my window at the pool below. At least thirty men and women are dancing and swimming. My eyes scan the place for Tarago. I spot him with a blonde on his lap, both of them are laughing.

“Put on your bikini and go join the party,” the plump woman who they call Charlene says, unzipping my suitcase and rummaging through it.

I glance at the party again. I barely drink and I don’t wear bikinis, just one-piece bathers. As for dancing, I’d only do it when I’m happy. Right now I’m miserable as hell.

“O…kay,” I say. “Is there any way I can get a cup of coffee?” I really could do with some perking up.

The older maid Charlene, moves her head slowly to look at me.

Did I say the wrong thing, perhaps?

“The kitchen is that way,” she says, pointing all her fingers to the ground.

“Oh, okay,” I say, not knowing what else to say. Somehow, since I am Tarago’s guest, I expected them to bring me coffee. But, I guess that’s not the case here, and I feel like an idiot.

“
Can jy Afrikaans praat
(Can you speak Afrikaans?)?”

I can with difficulty. I can also understand the language if they don’t speak too fast. Most importantly, I know a heap of swear words.

“English,” I mutter. It’s safer to say that instead of giving them a long explanation.

She looks at the younger woman, who has her hands in my vanity case. I wish they wouldn’t touch my stuff. It’s all so personal.

“Hear that, Julia? She does not speak Afrikaans. Only English.”

“Only English? Reeeeally?” Julia pauses with her riffling to drop her jaw. “A lanie coolie
ne
! (Rich Indian, huh)?”

They exchange amused smiles and simultaneously resume their rummaging.

“Where you from?” Charlene asks as she lifts up a cashmere sweater of mine and inspects it.

“Rondebosch. And you?”

“Rondebosch?” A puzzled look flits across her face.

“Born in Durban, raised in Cape Town.”

“I seeee. How long you staying for?” she asks, ignoring my question and picking up my dressing gown.

I shrug. “Not sure.”

She nods slowly. “So if you are from Rondebosch, why do you have such a weeeeird accent?”

“I lived in the States for five years,” I say.

“The States?!”

“Yes, the US. America. Atlanta.”

She gasps and holds her chest. “Hear that, Julia? She lived in the
States
for five years. Ameeerika noggal.”

“Waaaat? Tarago’s got his latest whore all the way from America?” Julia asks in Afrikaans, her hands on her hips.

Charlene nods. “Maybe we should treat this whore with some respect then?”

Julia looks at the ceiling and appears to think about it. Then she shakes her head from side-to-side.

Both of them cackle, hold their sides and mock me.

Anger rips through me. I want to tell these bitches that I understand what they are saying and that they can to hell. But they’re half right – I am Tarago’s whore, so what can I say? I’m intimidated by them enough to say nothing.

I’m certain of one thing, though – I don’t like these two women and I wish they’d take their nasty arses out of my room and leave my clothes alone.

“You need to empty these suitcases,” Julia says.

Ignoring her, I grab some clothes and head into my bathroom to change. Why bother to unpack when I might be out of here within days?

As I’m changing, Charlene barges into the bathroom without knocking. “
Kom, kom, kom!
Meneer doesn’t like to be kept waiting. He is a very impatient man.”

A closed door does not mean a thing to her, obviously.

“Okay,” I say holding up my top in front of me.

After her eyes drag over my semi-nakedness, she leaves.

As I dress, I try to wrap my head around the situation I’m in – it’s Friday, the day I got married to a stranger. The day I became a wife to a pig I do not know. I’m now living in a beautiful mansion in Clifton and am currently being bullied by two nasty colored maids.

I walk back into the bedroom, rummage through my suitcases and find my make-up. Under the watchful and critical eyes of the two bitches in my room, I run a brush through my hair, put on some light make-up and slip on a pair of heels.

When I finally look in the mirror, I’m not sure if I am over-dressed in pair of white shorts and a mustard, strappy top.

“Where’s your bikini?” Charlene asks.

“Don’t wear bikinis,” I say.

She jerks back. “Why not?”

I shrug. “Just don’t.” No need to mention that I have body issues and that I’m a lights off girl.

“Mff.”

I ignore their synchronized eye-rolling.

I leave them and run down to the kitchen where I try to find stuff to make coffee.

As I do, the evil twins appear.

“Hope you are not messing up my kitchen,” Charlene says as she takes a seat on a chair and puts her feet up.

Without answering, I help myself to coffee from the machine, spoon in two sugars and add milk to it. 

I hurriedly down the lukewarm coffee then leave the kitchen.

By the time I get to the party, Tarago is dancing with his hands in his air to
Dance Sum More
by Mango Groove. His face is red, his shirt is opened to reveal a hairy chest and his eyes are bloodshot.

He looks a mess to me.

I’m taken aback when I see some of the girls swimming topless. To see so many boobs out in the open is a little confrontational to me. Nobody seems to mind or even take notice of them.

A couple in the pool are kissing and openly fondling each other. Nobody gives them a second look either. 

The pool meanders around the property, offering privacy and uninterrupted views of the ocean. In the distance I see more people swimming. Topless.

A mini version of the Playboy mansion. What have I let myself in for?

“
Nou daar’s vyf
(now there’s five!)” Tarago says when he spots me.

Everyone stops to stare at me. I turn crimson under their stares.

“
Vyf! Vyf! Vyf!”
Tarago sings with his hands in the air, like the moron he is.

Jooste, the guy with the crew cut and tattoos, the one who wagered with Tarago, claps his hands. “
Boet
(brother) I owe you a rand.”

He runs off to his jeans, rifles through his pocket, fetches a rand and gives it to Tarago. Like a trophy, Tarago kisses the rand and holds it up for all to see.

All the sheep clap.

“How did you do it?” Jooste asks.

Tarago shrugs. “I have my ways.” He looks at me. “
Kom dance met my, vyf.”

Irritated, I ignore his request to dance and take my surly face to the bar. “An orange juice, please.” I feel so out of place that I look longingly up at my room. 

When I turn around again, Tarago is being dragged into the pool by the three blondes.

In the water, I watch him pick up the girls and toss them back into the water like beach balls. They shriek and get on his back and try to drown him. Unsuccessfully – he appears to be a really strong swimmer.

He looks at me and flexes his fingers. “
Kom hier vyf!”

“
Vyf
? Why
vyf
, Tarago?” Jooste, who now takes off his shirt to reveal a tattoo of a snake that extends from navel to neck, asks.

“Cos, Jooste, Tarago rated her five out of ten,” one of the blonde answers.

I recognize her – she was one of the blondes who dined with Tarago at the restaurant. They call her Hanlie.

Jooste laughs. “Aw, c’mon,
vyf
? She’s a
seve
, at least, man.” His eyes sweep slowly over me. “Maybe even nine.”

Tarago shakes his head and flexes the fingers on one hand. “
Vyf
.”

Now all eyes are on me once again. My face burns and I have the urge to throw my glass of orange juice at the Tarago the oaf.

I get so annoyed, I get up from my chair and storm out. Behind me, I hear obnoxious Tarago guffawing.

In my room, I sit on my bed and fume. How could he humiliate me like that?

Two years? Two goddamn years in this place with that moron?

Charlene bursts into my room. “Miss America,
Meneer
, he say you must put on a bikini and come back to the party.”

“I’m not wearing a bikini. Not for him or anyone else. Tell him to piss off.”

She jerks back and looks at me with big eyes. “You sure you want me to say that to Meneer?”

“Yes, I do,” I say in a defiant voice.

With a knowing smirk, she saunters off.

I stand in front of my window and look out at everyone. I can’t see Tarago anywhere. Good. Hope the bastard drowned.

Suddenly Tarago grabs me from behind, throws me over his shoulder and runs down the stairs to the pool with me as if I’m a rag doll.

“Tarago, stop!” I cry. “Just stop this childish …”

He ignores my protests and continues running. “You are going into the pool, vyf!”

When he enters the poolside, there is great cheering and clapping when they see Tarago carrying me.

“Put me down, Tarago!” I hiss. “I cannot swim. I have a fear of water. Put me …”

With a Tarzan howl, he throws me into the pool, complete with shoes, watch, earrings. Into the deep end.

When I finally surface from my near-drowning experience, I splutter and cough and fight to get to the side of the pool. I have a serious phobia of water and to be dumped like this is terrifying. I may hate the water and won’t swim, but I do have basic knowledge of swimming, so I manage to kick my way to the edge of the pool, where I grab onto the rail and continue spluttering.

When I look up, everyone is laughing. Holding their sides and falling around with laughter.

Furious, I get out of the pool and storm over to Tarago to do God know what. He runs and hides behind two blondes.

“You dog, you …you …imbecile!”

He starts counting on his fingers.

“Do that again and I will kiiiill you!” I say in what I hope is a snarl.

He cowers lower, eliciting thunderous laughter.

“Uuurrrggghhh!” is all I can manage before I storm off to my room and into the shower.

I could kill the barbarian. Honestly and without hesitation, I could just kill him.

After taking a shower, I call Rheema and complain. To my utter astonishment, she laughs. I get so mad, I slam the phone down on her. I don’t hang up, I slam it down and hope her ear hurts.

Chapter Six

I awake at 6 AM. Probably because of the unfamiliarity of things.

On tiptoe, I steal down to the kitchen and make myself a cup of coffee. As I do, I notice the tell-tale signs of last night’s party. Some major cleaning up is needed. But everyone else in the house appears to be asleep.

I take my coffee and head back to my bedroom.

At 11 AM, Julia barges into my room without knocking. “
Meneer
wants you to join him for breakfast.”

I nod. Since I was expecting that, I already dressed in a denim skirt, a white halter top and wedges.

After brushing my hair and putting on some lip gloss, I make my way to Tarago and breakfast.

Trying hard to pretend that getting dumped into the pool last night has not humiliated me, I take a deep breath, square my shoulders and walk to the brunch table with my head held high.

To my surprise, most of the people from the party are seated at the table. Their amused looks don’t escape me and the sniggering starts immediately. 

“Mor…” My greeting dies on my lips when I see the amused look on Tarago’s face.

I throw him an annoyed glare before I look away.

The sniggers float around me. It’s hard to pretend like it doesn’t bother me, but I try. 

The sunny and airy dining room overlooks the pool, the entertainment area and the water. It is ultra-modern, with white, leather high-back chairs and a ten-seater glass, dining table. Off white porcelain floor tiles gives the place a beach house feel, an upmarket one, which is what it is. Way more than a holiday house.

Three pearly, pendant lights descend from the ceiling and hover over the dining table. The décor is so modern and hi-tech, that it confuses me as to how an oaf like Tarago could have such great taste. It looks like a page out of the home décor magazine. I have to assume that he had an interior decorator. No way could a moron like him have such amazing taste.

At the table are the three blondes – Hanlie, Anneline and Erika. Pretty girls in their twenties.

Also at the table is Jooste, (who I later learn is Tarago’s half-brother) and another guy they call Vermuelen.

“
Praat jy Afrikaans
? (Do you speak Afrikaans?)” Jooste asks.

“No, she say it’s the
oppressor’s
language!” Tarago answers.

Jooste jerks back in his chair.

Man, I feel like shooting Tarago.

“Waaaat?” Erika shrieks. “Is not foking true!” She looks to her other blondes for backup.

“Is not,” Hanlie confirms after thinking about it for a moment.