Obsessed with Me - When she rejected him, he set out to destroy her - book 1 (9 page)

I laughed at the thought of Tarago in women’s underwear.

When I hung up with Rheema, I was feeling a little lighter.

I never even got to say goodbye to Ashwin and for that I feel cheated. But what surprises me is that Ashwin never really tried to make contact with me. I was afraid that we’d have to duck and dive to see each other behind Tarago Jakobus’s back, but that wasn’t necessary – Ashwin appeared to be very happy and content with his new life. My bitterness with Ashwin’s behavior, was overshadowed only by my hatred for Tarago.

As I lie in the dark and look at the patterns of light on the ceiling, I think about Ashwin’s smile, his naked body over mine, his tongue in my mouth, the way he calls my name and I ache for him.

Chapter Ten

I jerk back at the sight of so many guns in one room.

Tarago and Jooste are surrounded by about twenty guns that they appear to be cleaning. To see so many 9 mm, shotguns and revolvers makes me nervous.

“Are you an arms dealer or something?” I ask, taking a step back.

“No, just legs and thighs,” Tarago says with a straight face. “And tits.”

He doesn’t laugh, neither do I.

“And arse,” Jooste adds with a small laugh.

The blondes enter.

“Oh, can we clean too?” Erika asks as if they’re playing a game of cards. “Please, please, please!”

“Sure,” Tarago says.

“We’re going to the rifle range,” Tarago says to me. “I want you to come with.”

“No, thank you.”

“Why not?”

“‘I don’t like guns, don’t believe that they are useful in any way.”

Everyone looks at me, then pack up laughing.

“You’ve never fired before?” Tarago asks an incredulous look on his face.

“No.”

“If you live with me, you have to know how to use a weapon.”

“Mff.”

“Or you can be dumped into the pool. You choose.”

He stands up and starts moving his feet like a bull does before it charges.

“Tarago, stop!” I say.

He puts his fingers to his head to form horns and continues working his feet like bull.

I look at the pool, then look at him.

“Okay fine!” I snap.

He stops and returns to gun cleaning.

Grudgingly, I have to admit, I have fun at the gun range. Tarago stands behind me, helps me aim, corrects my stance and makes me fire. I feel powerful as I hit the target – what a rush.

He gets me to fire a 9mm, a shotgun and a revolver. Teaches me how to cock to, about recoil and firing stance, about gun safety...

“You don’t have to be afraid of a gun,” he explains. “Be afraid of the person holding it.”

“Like you?”

With a short laugh, he kisses the back of my neck and presses his hips into my butt. “Ja,” he whispers, running his hand around me and squeezing my boobs, “always be afraid of me. I’m a bastard.”

“Oh, I could tell you that,” I say, pushing him off me. “Careful, someone might see you trying to fuck a chick that’s not white.”

To my disappointment, he actually looks around and drops his arms.

What a bastard. What a racist bastard.

But in the end, I won’t forget the rush I got when I fired those weapons.

****

I see my family every Sunday afternoon from 10 AM till 9 PM. I take my mother shopping, pick up my gran from her nursing home to spend the day with us, have dinner with the family, then drop off my gran again at the nursing home and head back to my tormentor’s home in Clifton.

I look forward to my mother’s home cooked meals of curry and rice and pickles and all things Indian. I miss all of it so much, that I dive into her pots the moment I arrive home.

My mother, for the first time in months looks healthy – courtesy of the regular treatment she is getting. Her face is not puffy and she has energy. That makes me believe that all that I go through at Clifton Manor is worth it.

Ralph my brother studying criminal law and Sergie my brother studying telecommunications technology, are doing well with their studies and are thrilled to see me.

My sisters are getting good grades so I can’t complain about much, even their short skirts.

When I see how happy and relaxed they all are, I feel that I did the right thing by accepting my tormentor’s fucked up proposal.

My uncle Anand, who is my father’s brother, and his wife, Aunt Saras, who is my mother’s younger sister, usually visit every Sunday afternoon mainly to see me.

Uncle Anand became a father-figure when my father was thrown in prison. He and Aunt Saras has been our family’s mainstay and we do very little without consulting them first.

Uncle Anand hates Whites with a passion and is very vocal about it.

Today, at the dinner table, he scoffs at the fact that the Nobel Peace Prize was given to both de Klerk and Mandela. Then he scoffs at the fact that my employer is white. Then he scoffs at, well everything concerning the white man. His bitterness knows no bounds.

As he speaks, my brothers and sisters hang on to his every word.

“Enough politics,” Aunt Saras says with a smile and turns to me. “How are things going at work?”

“Not bad,” I say.

They go on to ask questions about my life and my boss. My answers are short and vague.

I don’t tell them about obnoxious Tarago who visits almost every night and about his voracious sexual appetite.

I don’t tell them that when Tarago fucks me at night, I pretend it’s Ashwin grunting on top of me.

I don’t tell them about how I am the butt of all jokes all the times by the whites.

I don’t tell them that the people who treat me with utter disrespect because of my colour, are actually black, not white – which is by far, the most confusing thing to me.

I don’t tell them that I’m confused that Tarago has not tired of me yet considering that his record is seven days.

“I’m not going to allow him inside the house,” my gran says. “He hasn’t come home in three days and now he thinks he can just walk in like nothing happened? That’s not going to happen.”

We roll our eyes and nod. Gran’s talking about my grandpa. Gran has schizophrenia and a touch of Alzheimer’s. A lethal combination. We are used to her paranoia and ramblings, so we just nod in agreement.

After all, grandpa died fifteen years ago.

She turns her eighty-nine-year-old neck to glare at Lucky, our maid of five years. Lucky is a Zulu speaking maid who hails from Durban. She lives in with us and is very much part of the family.

“Why is the girl sitting at our table?” Gran whispers in a harsh voice.

“Gran, stop!” I say, shocked and embarrassed at her behavior. It’s like deja vu – Suzette and me at Clifton Manor. Funny, I’ve never really noticed my gran’s behavior before – must be something to do with my new-found sensitivity to racism.

I look at Lucky. She looks really embarrassed and a little pissed off, even though she’s used to my gran’s eccentric behavior.

“And she’s using the same dishes as us!”

“Gran stop!” I say.

She looks at me. “They must know their place,” she says. “You are spoiling them.”

I whirl to look at my mother. “Ma, do something!”

 “What?” my mother says. “Lucky knows not to take notice of her.”

That’s it? That’s my mother’s response to my gran’s horrible behavior? I’m appalled.

“Ma! That’s not good enough.”

Everyone turns to look at me as if I’m crazy, as if I’m making too big a deal about nothing.

Suddenly, I feel helpless and tears threaten. I think I’m more mad at myself that I never saw this before, never realized how hurtful this behavior was.

How could I have been that way?

I turn to my gran. “Stop it.”

Gran pushes back her chair, gets up and walks into the kitchen. She returns with a plastic plate and cup and gives it to my mother. “She must eat in this, not our dishes.”

My mother takes the plates, puts it aside and continues as normal.

“MA!” I hiss.

My mother gives me a what-do-you-want-me-to-do look.

I sigh.

“Two days ago, money was missing from my purse,” Gran whispers loudly. “I know it was the girl. Nobody else was around, only the girl.”

There is a collective groan at the table.

“Ma, two days ago, you were in the nursing home,” my mother says. “She wasn’t …” My mother sits back and looks at Lucky, an apologetic look on her face. “Don’t pay any attention to her, Lucky.”

Lucky nods, but I see the hurt in her eyes. More importantly, I
feel
her hurt – been there, done that, got the wound, all courtesy of Suzette.

I reach over and touch Lucky’s hand. “You are part of our family, Lucky. My gran doesn’t understand this. She’s ill. So don’t worry, okay?”

“Yes,” she says attempting a smile.

And that’s my gran. Sadly, we simply cannot wait to send her back to the nursing home. “Eat up, Gran,” I say. “I have to take you back soon.”

As she eats, she throws angry glares at Lucky.

And that ruins dinner at my mother’s house.

How can I be angry at Suzette when bigotry is rife among my own family members?

****

While at my mother’s house, I think about the credit card in my wallet which I have never used.

I remove it from my purse and inspect it. Wonder what would happen if I tried to use it.

Using my mother’s Toyota, I drive down to the shops in Cavendish Square. With sweaty palms I walk into a boutique, pick out two dresses and hand them to the teller with Tarago’s credit card.

Then, as if the card is stolen or something, I hold my breath and brace myself for their reaction when the card doesn’t work. Brace myself for being an idiot to believe that Tarago will give me unlimited access to his bank account.

I don’t even bother to try on the dresses.

A few moments later, the teller smiles as she places the dresses in the bag. “Enjoy your purchases,” she says in a mechanical voice.

It worked! Still not believing it, I hurry out of the store, clutching the bag with the dresses.

The dresses are beautiful and they would look lovely on Lima and Shyna. We’re the same size so I know what fits.

With a smile, I walk in a men’s boutique and pick out some spiffy threads for my brothers. They really need clothes.

I hand the card to the teller and hold my breath. Again, to my absolute delight, it works.

Thrilled, I buy a cardigan for my mother, a shawl for my gran and a pair of sneakers for Lucky.

All stuff they need.

Then clutching my bags, I race back home and present each person with their stuff. They are thrilled and I am so excited. It feel like it’s Christmas.

“What did you buy yourself?” Shyna asks.

I look at her and suddenly, it dawns on me that I didn’t buy myself anything.

“Why?” Lima asks.

I shrug. My happiness comes from seeing the happiness on my family’s face.

I wait all week for Avraham or Hettie to confront me about the money I spent. But nothing. I can hardly wait for next Sunday.

The following Sunday, I head to the shops
before
I go home. This time I double my purchases – fancy underwear for my sisters, nightwear for my mother, a fluffy gown and slippers for my gran, jeans for my brother, some new towels for Lucky and a smart new hat for Bogas, my driver.

But this time, I buy myself a thick, gold chain. My plan is to acquire jewelry which I figure I can sell in times of need, like when I need money for my mother’s treatment.

****

When Hettie arrives to talk to me, I think about the credit card and tense up.

I have been having fun with the card. Pity all good things …

Hettie and I sit across each other at the pool area.

“The reason for this informal meeting, tannin, is that I just wanted to touch base and see how you’re doing.”

“I’m doing okay, Hettie. Under the circumstances.” 

“Tarago treating you well?”

“Yeah, he’s given all that he said he would, and I have been cooperative too. I’m sure he told you that.”

“Except for the scratches on his face?”

I crimson under her gaze. “I …I…” Damn Tarago for mentioning it.

She laughs. “I think you are just what Tarago needs. A woman who isn’t afraid to kick his arse. He showed those scratches to me with so much pride – as if they were tattoos or bullet wounds.”

“Did he now?”

“How is everyone else treating you?”

I fall silent for a few moments as I think about Julia and Charlene and how mean they are too me. In fact, as I think about it, tears fill my eyes.

“What is it? Suzette?”

I shake my head. “Suzette is a bitch, but I can handle her, but the servants, they are so mean to me.”

“What? The
servants
? The coloured people? You must be joking.”

I look at her. “What do you …?”

“You are lady of the manor, Tanin. Fire their arses if you need to. Tarago won’t care. He just wants you to be happy and keep scratching him.”

“Fire them? You mean I can do that?”

“Sure. You are his …” Two fingers of both hands in the air, ‘PA.’ You can do anything around here. Even tell Suzette to
voetsak
(get lost).”

“Really?”

She nods and stands up. “You’re a big girl now, Tanin. You’re a married woman – act like one.” She taps my shoulder. “The only person you need to worry about is Tarago. Keep him happy and all is well.”

When she leaves, I remain where I am and ponder her words.

I smile when I think of how I can wield the power I have been given.

Suddenly, my day is brighter. 

Then I remember that she never brought up the credit card.

My day is even brighter. Time to go shopping!

This time I’m taking my family with. Even my gran, pain in the butt that she is.

Chapter Eleven

I pace as I think about what exactly I will say to Tarago. He’s not going to be happy to know that Ashwin wants to visit me, but I have to do this.