Obsessed with Me - When she rejected him, he set out to destroy her - book 1 (6 page)

“Mff,” Anneline spits in Afrikaans, “Who does she think she is?”

All eyes are now on me and I colour under their scrutiny.

“Foking stuck up bitch,” Anneline mutters.

“Is that a fact now?” Jooste asks, leaning back in his chair and letting his eyes sweep over me. “Oppressor, hey?”

I don’t answer.

Charlene and Julia quietly serve brunch.

“Can I get coffee?” Anneline asks, rattling her knife against her glass.

“
Seker Mejuffro
(sure miss),” Julia says, while Charlene runs to fetch the pot of coffee.

“Can I also get some too, please?” I say to Julia.

With her lips pressed together, Julia pours coffee into a cup and places it so hard on the table; it spills onto the saucer, the tablecloth and my white top. “There you go,” she says in a saccharine voice. 

I look up the mess around me, the spills of coffee on my white top, then at her.

In a bar, the look she gives me would precipitate a brawl.

With an inward groan of frustration, I silently empty the coffee from my saucer into my coffee cup and sip on it while they continue discussing me in Afrikaans.

“And…and …” Tarago lifts up a finger, “she doesn’t swear, wear a bikini, smoke or drink much.”

Everybody looks at him, then burst out laughing.

I look at the steak knife I’m holding and indulge in a brief but satisfying fantasy of me stabbing Tarago. It would be messy but oh, so satisfying.

“You don’t swear?” Erika asks, eyeing me with disbelief.

I shake my head.

“Why not?”

“Because, I don’t need to. I have a fairly good command of the English language and I don’t need to resort to profanity.”

“Stick up her arse,” someone mutters, while the others look at me as if I grew a beard on the spot. Maybe I asked for that.

“So, do you know how to make a
drie-hooke, coolie cookie
?” Jooste asks. “A …” he snaps his fingers, “samoosa, that’s it. Do you know how to make a samoosa?”

Ooooh boy!

“Do you know
all
the positions in the Karma Sutra?” Jooste continues.

I glare at Jooste. “Stop, will you?”

He laughs.

“Hey, can you Bollywood?” Erika yells from across the table, then touches each elbow and bobs in her chair. The other two blondes
and
Tarago all join her and burst out laughing.

More questions fly.
Stupid
questions.

“Do you speak Indian?”

“Where is your sari?”

“Does any of your family member’s wear big diapers like Ghandi did?”

“Where is your dot?” Points at forehead.

“Does your dot light up when you get angry?”

“It is a tattoo?”

“Where is it?”

“Lemmee answer!” Tarago shouts. “Lemmee answer!”

All eyes are on him. “She had
two
dots...”

Oh really?

“…but you know, over time, with age, everything sags …”

Oh yeah? Go on …

“…and they too sagged and now they’re called …nipples.”

Screams of laughter drowns Sonja Herold’s
Umfaan
playing in the background.

“Show us, man!” Jooste yells.

“Ja, come on, show us!” the other man, called Vermeulen yells.

Then chanting. “Show us! Show us! Show us!”

Erika yanks up her top to show off her boobs, but nobody takes notice of her.

I glare at Tarago. “Are you retarded?”

His response is to circle a fist in the air and chant. “Retarded! Retarded! Retarded!”

Of course the sheep join in. “Retarded! Retarded! Retarded!”

Once again, I get up and storm off.

This time when I see Charlene, I snap, “Don’t ask me to go back!”

She raises both palms in a surrendering motion.

In my room, I pace as I try to simmer down. What a pig. Such a loathsome, despicable, boorish pig. Him and his obnoxious friends. Buffoons. All of them.

Two years. A quick calculation – seven hundred and thirty days. How do I do this?

Well, take away two days …that’s seven hundred and twenty eight days. Will I go mental with him and his weirdos?

Please let him tire of me soon. Please! Please! Please!

Or please let him die. Of
something
– anything. Just let him die.

****

“
Meneer
wants you to dance with him,” Charlene says.

I look out of my window of my bedroom at the party below. Another boozy party with so many drunks. Wasn’t last night enough? How the hell does his liver handle it?

And, he has so many girls to dance with, why does he want
me
to dance with him?

“Tell him that I don’t wanna dance,” I say to Charlene.

Charlene gives me a sure-you-want-to-say-that-to-
Meneer
? look.

I nod.

With a small shrug, she leaves.

From my window, I watch her relay my message.

She returns a short while later. “
Meneer
say you must dance with him or he will throw you in the pool.”

After the other night, I don’t want to chance that. Fuming, I reluctantly walk out of my room and down to him.

When he sees me heading towards him, he claps his hands. “Round of applause for our non-smoking, non-drinking, non-swearing, non …everything vyf.”

Everyone claps.

“Knock it off, will you?” I hiss.

The music plays some Afrikaans song.

“What? All I want is for you to dance to a few oppressors’ songs,” Tarago says. “That’s all.”

“Mff.” With my lips pressed tightly together, I stand in front of him and reluctantly move a hip slightly to the left. Then I move it slightly to the right.

Under his watchful eyes and everybody’s watchful eyes, I feel like my feet are encased in cement.

“That’s not dancing,” Tarago says folding his arms and pouting like a two-year-old.

“It
is
dancing,” I argue. “And I’m sorry that I am not dancing like a monkey and going like this…” I put my hands over my head and push at the skies like he does, a crazy look on my face.

“See, now
that’s
dancing!” he says. “You got it, vyf.”

I fold my arms tightly across my chest. “Well, that’s
not
how I dance, so I refuse to dance like that. You just have to be happy with my style of dancing to this …this oppressor’s music.”

He looks at me, then shouts out, “Vyf wants black music! Can we put on Ladysmith Black Mambuza or something for vyf?”

Oh please!

“We don’t have any,” someone says. “No black music.”

Satisfied, that I told him off, I slightly shift around and stifle a yawn.

Suddenly, Tarago picks me up and walks towards the pool.

“Tarago, stop!” I hiss. “I have a very expensive outfit on. Stop!”

He continues walking.

“Tarago, stop this shit! I can’t swim. You know that.”

He carries on walking.

“Tarago! I can’t FUCKING SWIM!’

He walks to the deep end of the pool and just tosses me into it in front of everyone.

Once again, I fight and splash and cough and somehow manage to surface. When I get to the side of the pool, I look at him laughing at me.

I lose it – “
Jou bliksem
(You bastard)!
Ek sal jou doodmaak
(I will kill you!)!” The profanity, in Afrikaans too, just oozes from my mouth without me even thinking. Maybe I swallowed too much chlorinated water or something – to be cursing? To be cursing in
Afrikaans
?

A hush filled the place. All eyes now on Tarago.

Have I gone too far?

“Vyf,” he says in surprised, but humble voice, “you just spoke Afrikaans, vyf.”

I glare at him, my eyes bulging, my breath coming out in spurts.

“You just spoke the oppressor’s language, vyf.”

People start to laugh.

“Aaarrrggghhh!” I scream and get out of the pool. “You better sleep with your eyes opened you son-of-a-bitch!”

He just laughs.

“Motherfucking arsehole! I will knife you. I promise I will.”

His guffawing progresses to some table slapping.

“Now we can see your tits!” Erika says.

I’m wearing a white summer top and a flowing white skirt. Right now, through my top you can see my breasts and my hardened nipples.

Quickly, I cross my hands over my chest and storm out of the party, Tarago’s laughter ringing in my ears. I pause at the entrance to flash him my middle finger.

As I walk to my room, I think about the melt-down I just had – what the hell am I turning into? I’m swearing and cussing in Afrikaans, I’m making threats …I think Tarago is turning me into a mental case already.

I really need to get my shit together.

No, no, no – I need to get out of here.

Now.

Or someone’s going to die soon.

Chapter Seven

With my room light off, I stand at the window and look at the moonlight bouncing off the water in the distance. Some other time, I would have found it beautiful, even magical. Not tonight. Tonight I’m furious with everyone in this house. Especially with Tarago.

How dare he let people treat me like that? How dare he call me vyf and allow others to call me that? Demean me. I am his wife, for crying out loud!

So deep in thought I am, I do not hear him enter my room until he is behind me. He moves aside my hair and plants a kiss on my neck.

I tense up.

“What?”

I turn around, almost into him. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that again,” I hiss.

“I will talk to you any way I like,” he says in an arrogant voice. “You are my woman. I paid for you. I will talk to you any way I want to. He grabs me by the waist to kiss me.

“Fuck you!” I hiss and shove him away.

He grabs me by the shoulders. I react by sinking my teeth deep into his arm.

“Aaarrrggghhh!” he screams.

I use the opportunity to dart out of reach. He lunges after me, grabs me by the waist and throws me onto the bed.

I turn around and lash out – my nails raking his face. That doesn’t deter him. He doesn’t miss a beat. With a laugh, he moves aside his head.

He’s simply too strong for me to fight him, but that doesn’t stop me. As he climbs over me, I try to knee him in the groin. He simply relaxes into me, using his 6’4, one hundred or so kilos of body weight as a strait-jacket.

“You fucking asshole, I’m not your monkey!”

With a chuckle, he simply raises both my hands over my head and puts his face in mine. 

With my chest heaving, I glare at him.

“That’s what I like about you – you don’t come easy, vyf. You make me work for it. I like that.”

With a snarl, I try to wriggle from under him.

He just laughs. “That’s it, vyf? That’s all you have?”

I don’t answer.

“Don’t stop now. You’re turning me on. No woman has ever made me fight for her.”

I freeze. I don’t want to turn him on at all.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I let my head drop to the side.

He holds both my hands with one of his, and uses his other hand to grab my chin and turn my face to his.

“
Kyk na my, vyf
(Look at me, five).”

A tiny headshake from me.

“
Kyk na my
.”

Slowly, I open my eyes to look into his which are inches away.

“You’re a racist, politically incorrect, inconsiderate, uneducated, offensive arsehole.” 

He appears to think about it, then says, “True. But …I like you.” He kisses me. I keep my lips tightly closed.

He uses his tongue to force them apart and kisses me longer and deeper. “You’re so sexy when you’re flaming mad,” he whispers.

“And you’re a raving lunatic.”

Another short laugh as his lips trail my neck and move towards my breasts. He pulls down the strap of my nightdress to expose a breast. “What turns you on?” he whispers as his mouth hovers over a nipple.

“Just …just do what you have to do and fuck off, okay?”

He sucks on a breast, at the same time, parting my thighs with his knee.

By now, I just want him to finish what he came for and to just leave me the hell alone.

He raises his head to look at me. “You know what your problem is? You’ve never been …”

“Shaddup! Shaddup! Shaddup! Just shaddup, okay?”

“ …foked by a real man. You’ve just had boys.”

I close my eyes as he tugs off his pants.

He slips his fingers through my hair and kisses me again, his tongue probing my mouth, his hard-on trailing my thighs. He pauses to roll down my panties, then tosses it behind him.

Slowly, he runs his hands over my bare hips. “
So
pragtig
(So pretty),” he whispers.

I gasp, then close my eyes when his hands slips between my thighs.

“Look at me.”

“No,” I whisper and keep my eyes shut.

His touch becomes slower, deeper and more invasive. “Look at me, vyf.”

“N …no…”

Okay, time for me to think about Ashwin. It’s a way to cope in this situation.

Ashwin, Ashwin, Ashwin …

Then suddenly I’m almost airborne – he flips me onto my stomach and shoves apart my thighs. He climbs over me and kisses me neck, my shoulders, my back, before he jerks my up hips and plunges into me, doggy style. I hear his guttural groans of pleasure as he thrusts deep into me.

He reaches over to turn my neck for a deep kiss then slams into me. 

It goes on for hours (that’s what it feels like) until he explodes inside me. I fall back onto the bed, with him over me. Gently he lifts up my hair to kiss my neck.

“You are amazing,” he says.

“Get out!” I say, my face to the bed.

With a chuckle, he leaves.

****

Blue eyed Suzette is 5’77, blonde and fortyish. She’s heavy into nautical – navy blazer, white pants, striped navy and white top. Her eyes are heavily lined with bright blue eyeliner, her eye shadow is shimmering blue, her apricot blush and coral lips are bright and a bit dated. She wears a lot of chunky gold jewelry and her shoulder-length hair is coiffured.