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23 Jul 2011

Revenge


This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 22; the twenty-second edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.
I went through other wonderful posts and found none about classic revenge. I thought I’d do the honors.  

I looked at the face in the mirror.

A sensuous face with plump lips shimmering seductively from light gloss, almond-shaped kohl-lined eyes with lashes long enough to fell a man in a glance and high, well-defined cheek bones which seemed to lift the face from mere mortal to angel. The button nose was the only thing that kept the face from being perfect even while making it look cutely elfish. Thick hair, lustrous and luxurious, streaked in red and violet, skimmed the delicately shaped ears and fell just below the shoulder, the first indicator of a rebel child.

The rest is not too shabby either, I thought. A decade of being a druggie and I still had the perfect figure, still could turn all the heads in a bar the moment I walk in. I never have to try too hard, do I? I smirk to myself. No one has ever been able to resist the legs they describe to be ‘a mile long’.

I smoothed out the stockings, checked my garter fasteners and gave my hair one last brush. I knew I’d be quite a vision in the red Valentino and the fiery Jimmy Choo’s. They hugged my curves like second skin. I dabbed on Chanel No.6 and thought, everything has to be perfect.

It would be worth every bit of the mild shoe bite to see his mouth dropping open.


I went out to the foyer and asked the receptionist for the room keys; I said I was his wife. She threw a doubtful look at my hair but the reassuring smile that I gave her seemed to calm her down. I have always had a way with people. Maybe I would have done well at a job in the hospitality industry, I thought absently as I walked to the elevator.
He wouldn’t expect to see me. Not here, not now, not like this. I smiled.

I reached for the knob with a strange tightness in my chest. I refused to name the emotion as I pushed the door open. There he was, sitting at the table and writing, as handsome as I always remembered. The thick shock of black hair that curls at the nape, always making me yearn to run my fingers through them… The dimples that had progressed from being the TRP of a college kid for getting laid to making him look like the adorably approachable sales manager who had women happily catering to his every whim… The broad, powerful shoulders capable of taking your burden and replacing it with such intense pleasure that had your own shoulders arching with need… I sighed silently.

I quietly tiptoed behind him and put the chloroformed handkerchief to his nose.
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When I came to I found myself tied to the chair with my tie. What the fuck was going on here?! If this was somebody’s idea of a joke, there would be hell to pay… I’d make certain of that….

I sensed someone behind me. Who’s there, I called out. No reply, only a tinkling laugh.
My blood froze.

Haritha? Is that you?
Ah, so you still remember me, Tafseer. I’m glad, she said. I heard heels clicking and she came into view.

Mashallah. That girl had always been special. There had been that quality about her. I couldn’t help gawking. It’d been difficult to let go of that one and seeing her now was bringing all that back.

You never had a problem showing your admiration, Taff. She laughed again.
I knew this was it.
I’m sorry, I really am. Please….
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I saw fear wreak havoc in his eyes. Those beautiful brown eyes.
He was the only one who’d ever understood me, understood what I was made of. He knew.

I trusted you. I fell in love with you. You were the only one I ever truly cared about.



And you raped me. You tied me up and raped me for fifteen days, Taff. You invited your friends and you feasted on my body like hungry dingos. You burned me with cigarette butts and made me do unimaginable things. And you laughed at me.

Lol… even that I got over. Just imagine; I got over having my life ruined, my dignity stripped. Why? Because God gave me a new chance at life. I, somehow, didn’t care that a rapist’s blood was going to run in her veins and I made the mistake of coming to you. God, I was a fool. I believed your promises, I trusted you after everything. I’d seen Ma go back to Pappa a countless times and some na. So, I came back to you.

And you killed my baby. My Aalia.


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She lovingly dipped the rag in vitriol, careful not to ruin her manicure and placed it carefully on his writhing face. Then she dripped what was left in the bottle down his shirt and left the bottle upturned on his zipper.

And she settled down on a cushioned chair to watch the life ebb out of him, bit by painful bit. She reveled in the feeling of the tightness in her chest dissipating rapidly.

His last agonized scream was muffled by the rag.
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