Obsessed with Me - When she rejected him, he set out to destroy her - book 1 (3 page)

That felt greeeeat!

Damn bottle broke in my hand, though. No problem; I run over to the heap of empty bottles and grab another. Bam! The bonnet buckles. Man, this feels amazing. Why didn’t I do it before?

“What the fok are you doing?” a man screams.

“Stand back!” I warn as I raise the bottle.

He fired me – bam!

He’s evicting us – bam!

He’s lying ’bout my stealing – bam!

He’s an arrogant son of a bitch – bam!

All around the car, I walk and slam bottle after bottle and I feel alive and energized. This is how insanity must feel. What a delicious feeling.

“
Sy is mull
(She is mad),” someone complains.

I turn and look at the man who said that. When I smile, he shrinks back.

“I most certainly am,” I say, as I lift up the bottle and slam it on the roof of the car.

“You missed a spot.”

I whirl around to look up at Tarago, leaning against the door, eyeing me with crinkling eyes, while everyone around him have their hands on their head or pasted over their mouths.

“No, I didn’t, you racist fucker! I’m saving the bottle for your HEAD!”

“Really now?” His face has a bring-it-on look.

I nod and take a step towards him, bottle raised. He doesn’t move.

Pity the police has to arrive. With all their sirens blaring, they ruin a damn good cathartic session.

Tarago watches with a smile as I am handcuffed and thrown into the back seat of a cop car by a beefy red-faced arsehole with a badge.

Chapter Three

“K
an jy Afrikaans praat
?” the cop in the driver’s seat asks.

I fume in silence.

He looks around to me for an answer.

“Just a few words,” I say, maintaining eye contact with him. “Like,
FOK JY!
(Fuck you!) and
jou ma se MOOR
! (Your mother’s cunt!) Basics.” I give a mirthless smile.

His eyes narrow. “Got attitude, hey? We’ll see about that. Do you know whose car you fucked up? Hey?”

“Satan’s?”

“
Nee
, that is
Meneer
(mister) Jakobus’s vehicle.
Taraaaaago
Jakobus. You want to mess with an important man like that, hey? You little smart Alex.”

“Alec, you retard,” I mutter.

“
Wat
?”

I fall silent and sit with my lips pressed together. I’m beyond angry now and this cop is wasting his time talking to me.

When we get to the local police station, my handcuffs are removed and I’m placed in a holding cell. Strangely, even though overcrowding is rife in these cells, I am alone.

I lie my weary body on the wooden, bolted-down bench and look at the high grey ceiling that is in need of a coat of paint.

As the hour progresses, the adrenalin wears away and fear sets in. I know I should call someone, but who? My mum? She’ll be shocked, stressed and disappointed with me.

I’m always the level-headed one in the family, mainly because I have to be. A good example for my four younger siblings. Yet, I’m in jail for destruction of property – vandalism.

All this because I turned down Tarago Jakobus. How I despise the beast.

Reality nips and tears prick the back of my eyes. I refuse to cry. I am stronger than this. I will not cry. Deep breaths.

I get up and walk to my cell gate. “I would like to make a phone call please,” I say to the policewoman seated nearby doing paperwork and eating a muffin. My plan is to call my Uncle Anand, who is my father’s brother.

He’s a medical doctor and he’s our rock. He’ll know what to do and maybe he won’t even tell my mum about this.

“Later,” she says without looking up from her papers.

I saunter back to my wooden bench.

Three hours later I’m back at my cell gate.

“Please can I have my one phone call?” I ask another female police officer.

“Hoe jou bek and sit vas (
Shut your mouth and sit tight
)
!” she says in a no-nonsense voice. She’s around 5’9 with hair on her chin, a lot more than a peach fuzz on her upper lip and a crew cut, so I creep back to my bench and lie on it. Soon, I’m fast asleep.

“Tanin!” A female cop shakes me. “Your bail has been set at one hundred thousand rands,” she says.

“What?” I rub my sleepy eyes. “But …but …how? I haven’t been to court as yet?”

She shrugs.

“I don’t have an attorney, ei…”

“It works differently with vandalism and destruction of property,” she says in a snappy voice. “Your lawyer presented your case and …” She shrugs.

I hold my head with both hands and blink rapidly. This is weird. “One hundred thousand? That’s pretty steep for ...”

“Well, it’s because of your ties to the US. He’s probably afraid you’ll skip the country.”

“Skip the country because of
vandalism
charges? That’s crazy. And …” I look up at the cop, “how come you’re discussing all this with me? Shouldn’t my lawyer …?”

“Oh, your lawyer is on his way and I’ll be taking you to him.”

Just then another female cop appears. “Attorney for Tanin Gordhan!”

The two officers lead me into an interview room, where a Woody Allen look-alike, but with dark curly hair, sits amidst a lot of papers. Next to him is a tall, muscular woman, with the broadest shoulders I have ever seen on a female, a tiny brown bun on her head and a set jaw.

He puts out his hand. “Miss Gordhan, I am Avraham Stransky, your attorney and this is my partner and wife, Hettie Stransky.”

“Hi,” I say. “Who appointed you, Mr Stransky? I’m worried about your fees. I’m a university student.”

Before he can answer, the door opens and Tarago Jakobus saunters in.

My head jerks to look at Avraham Stransky. “What the hell is he doing here?”

“Eh, Miss Gordhan, Mr Jakobus appointed me as your lawyer and he will take care of my fees as well.”

“He did? Why?”

I glare at Tarago as he takes a seat next to Mr Stransky.

“I didn’t ask you to sit.” I say in an icy voice.

“He will also put up your bail.”

Tarago ignores me and lowers himself into a chair that’s too small for his bulk. The guards leave the room and shut the door behind them.

My eyes shift between Tarago and Mr Stransky. “Oh yeah? What’s the catch?”

“There is no
catch
, Miss Gordhan.”

“That doesn’t sound right, Mr Stransky. There has to be one – a catch, that is.”

He shrugs.

“Really?
No
catch. He’s just gonna pay your fees and pay my bail because …” I glare at Tarago, “he’s got a big heart?” My voice is laden with sarcasm.

Mr Stransky is poker-faced. In an even tone of voice, he says, “Well, he has a
proposition
for you, that’s why he’s here.”

“Aaahhh!?” I sit up in my chair and look at Stransky, my eyebrows almost touching my hairline, my fingers drumming on the metal table.

“Kindly let me finish before you ask questions.”

“Mff.” I stop drumming.

He reads from the papers in front of him. “Mr Jakobus will post your bail of one hundred thousand rands. You will be released after we speak, if …you agree to be his woman.”

I open my mouth to speak, but the words don’t come out. When I do speak, I have to ask, “Is he nuts?”

Stransky puts his finger to his lips. “He understands that you are helping support your brothers who are attending university and your sisters who are at school, and that your mother is in need of medical treatment, so in addition to your bail, he will pay you a monthly allowance of twenty thousand rands a month.”

My jaw drops. Twenty thousand rands a month – in spite of my surroundings, in spite of my situation, my mind sells me out and races – I can pay all school fees, all university fees, I can take care of my mother’s outstanding hospital bills so that she can have her dialysis, I can fix up our Toyota…

I can even get a deposit on the house we need to rent, I can keep my gran in the nursing home ...

“Mr Jakobus will also ensure that your family gets to live in the house he now owns for the duration of your relationship”

They don’t have to move! My family can stay where they are! This is too good to be true.

Stransky sits back and looks at me.

“Wow! That’s sure is generous of Mr Jakobus. But Mr Stransky, I wouldn’t need his generosity if he hadn’t targeted me. I mean, I was working, I was managing bills and we were fine. He messed up everything because of his obsession with me, his need to win. He dragged me down to his …his pathetic level and now that I’m at rock bottom, he appears to be my
savior
? Any fool can see right through him. I know all about Stockholm syndrome – I’m not his average bimbo, you know. I’m intelligent, educated and I’ve lived abroad.”

I pause to throw Tarago a hateful glare.

Tarago leans in and whispers into Stansky’s ear.

“Eh, Mr Jakobus wants to know if you can insult him in Afrikaans, please. He has a problem with English.”

I fold my arm across my chest. “Mr Stransky, I’m sorry, but I do not speak Afrikaans.”

“Mr Jakobus would like to know why not?”

“Because …because …I consider it an oppressor’s language and I will not speak it. He needs to learn English. It’s 1993 for crying out loud – everybody speaks English.”

Each time Tarago Jakobus leans in, Stransky interprets.

“Mr Jakobus hears your sentiment, but he says the oppressor is really the black man, not the innocent white man. The white man is being unfairly vilified because of the colour of his skin. This needs to change if South Africa is to progress.”

My jaw drops. “Is your client retarded?”

“Mr Jakobus requests that you use words that consist of not more than six characters as he is a simple man who doesn’t appreciate big words.”

“What? Is your client …does your …?” I shut my eyes, then open them, “does your client think all of this is a joke? I mean, I’m in jail, my freedom has been compromised because he is a stalker and an imbecile, and he’s finding all of this
amusing
?”

Tarago starts counting on his fingers, then leans in for more whispering.

Stransky clears his throat. “Eh, Mr Jakobus says he’s pretty sure that two of the words you have used have more than six characters. He’s not very sure, as he is not as learned as you appear to be.”

With a groan, I close my eyes and count to ten.

Finally, I open them, take a deep breath for control and say, “Look, here’s what I suggest – he pays my bail and just leaves me alone. He also changes my reference or I’m taking this matter up with industrial court.”

As we talk a cop brings in three cups of coffee which he places in front of Tarago Jakobus, Avraham and Hettie.

Tarago whispers in the cop’s ear. The cops nods and leaves the room.

“Sorry, it doesn’t work that way,” Stransky says. “It’s all or nothing with Mr Jakobus.”

I cup my eyes with my hands, then hold my head with both my hands and finally hang my head. After a while I look at Avraham Stransky.

“Look, first of all, I won’t live with someone before I marry them, as my family, my mother, she’s old-fashioned and she’s ill and I don’t want to break her heart. So …” I shrug.

The cop returns with a cup of coffee and places it in front of me. I’m too surprised to thank the cop.

“Mr Jakobus wants to know what exactly are you saying.” Mr Stransky says the moment the cop leaves the room.

Okay, time to pull out my scare tactic. “If he wants me as his woman, he has to
marry
me.” I sit back with my arms folded across my chest, a mixture of defiance and amusement on my face.

For the first time, I hear a sound from big-shoulders Hettie Stransky – “Mff!”

My last statement should have him high-tailing it out of here in less than ten seconds. Out of the police station and maybe out of Cape Town.

More whispering between them.

Then Avraham turns his whole body to look at Tarago.

Tarago nods.

Avraham takes of his glasses, wipes his eyes and shakes his head. Finally he speaks. “Mr Jakobus says that you drive a hard bargain, but okay, he will marry you…”

My jaw falls to my ankles.

“Waaaaat?” for the first time, Hettie has spoken.

“…however, the condition is that
nobody
finds out about your marriage. It is to be kept a secret and if the secret is discovered, the deal is over.”

I’m at a loss for words. He’d actually marry me? This man is a lunatic. Wait hang on, maybe I’m handling this all wrong. Maybe he likes my feistiness. So….let’s change it around. Become more understanding, boring.

“Mr Stransky, I say in a voice used by bank managers on clients just before they decline the loan, “your client is not bad looking. Why doesn’t he get himself an Afrikaner girl, a former Miss World or someone like Sonja – she’s really pretty? I’m really not his type and not for him. I’m moody, I speak my mind mind, I
actually
enjoy studying and …”

“Mr Jakobus thanks you for the compliment, but it’s you he wants. Says if he had a rand for every time someone called him ‘not bad looking,’ he’d have a …rand.”

I slam back into my chair. “I’m not physically attracted to him!” I snap. “Look at him – he’s circus tall and looks like a goddamn gorilla.”

“Mr Jakobus says that he knows he should exercise more and eat healthy, but he really likes his whisky and braai (barbeque). That means he will never wear a medium-shirt, ever. He also says that you’re not the type of girl he usually goes after, fair enough. You only rate five on his grading scale...”

“What?”

“…and his criteria is usually nine out of ten and above. But in your case he would make an exception, because you look sad all the time.”

I let out a long exasperated sigh then lean forward. “Five?”

Avraham nods.

I groan. “Anyway, I don’t care about his rating. I have a boyfriend and he’s really good looking. I’m totally in love with him. We plan to marry and start a family together and there is no way he’ll let go of me. And …” I wag my finger at Tarago, “I’m not sad.”