I watch her squirm in discomfort. Her usually beautiful face is distorted into a grotesque picture of pain and suffering. I chuckle to myself as involuntary groans escape her now chapped lips. She cannot make up her mind on whether to lie down or sit up straight. The pain she feels is evidently unbearable. And I am enjoying every minute of it.
Our relationship, if you can call it that, was nothing more than a facade. She was determined to change every aspect of me; she had judged me and found me wanting. Without even talking to me about my feelings on the matter, she went ahead and decided I wasn’t good enough. But who is, right? We all have our faults. Well, the insane perfectionist in her just couldn’t tolerate my average nature. And so she made it her personal mission in life to transform me into her version of beauty. I still cringe at the unspeakable horrors I had to endure just to be worthy of her full affections.
To say she abused me is an understatement. She tortured every fiber of my being, belittled me with her backhanded compliments and lowkey insults. Her voice dripping with evil amusement, she told me I could be more than what I was, all while she beat me into a pulp. I looked at her dainty hands, and couldn’t believe that those were the very same hands that administered such white hot atrocities. What crime had I committed? Is it so hard to accept that sometimes, normalcy is enough for some people? What good was it if everyone stood out? But my cries were like music to her ears. I probably would have dealt with this better if she had just admitted to her selfishness. But no. That crazy witch said she did it all for my benefit!
And now it was her turn to pay. She thought she would get away with devouring me piece by piece until nothing was left of me, but she thought wrong. I attacked her from the inside out, serenading her senses with the sweetness she had so generously, albeit unwittingly, gifted me with. At first, I made her feel mildly uncomfortable. Then I turned up the heat slowly but surely, taking care not to alarm her too quickly. Slowly, I watched her smug expression turn into a slight frown. Then beads of sweat broke on her forehead as she tried to keep herself calm and composed. Wait till ‘composed’ becomes ‘compost’, I thought to myself. As if on cue, she gasped and did an Olympics-worthy sprint to the bathroom. Yes! Operation ‘Explosive Diarrhoea’ was in full swing. Now for phase two…
Say you’ll never do it again. “I’ll never do this again!” she cries. Do what? I ask. “Eat so much cake! I never want to see a Black Forest cake ever again!” I laugh to myself. Her new name for me had an air of dark mystery that I quite enjoyed. Too bad I wasn’t done with my payback. I still needed to cross pimples and weight gain off my list. She dashes for the toilet for the umpteenth time, and I accompany her with an evil laugh. Revenge is sweet!