Page 21 of Lust
At the moment, she was painting the view from our balcony. A man and a woman stood on the very balcony, gazing upon the starry night. The figures depicted multiple ethnicities as chunks of their faces were painted in various colors—white, black, brown, olive, and so forth.
A figure that represents all races, I concluded absentmindedly.
Did she feel excluded from this family? Was this her nonverbal way of disclosing how much she wished we all looked the same?
“Interesting piece,” I whispered. “What do you call it?”
“A painting.”
“Do you always have to be such a brat?”
She turned to me with a crooked smile. “Only at three in the morning.”
“Which brings me to the original question. Why are you up so late?”
“Just thinking of ways to torture you,” Sara mumbled absentmindedly.
That little shit.
A few weeks ago, our parents had hosted a large dinner party. The guest list included Lilith, a woman Mom had pushed for me to marry. Lilith had the right build for a politician’s wife. Sadly, she did nothing for me. I only kept her around because she was a prominent lobbyist representing the interests of the largest corporations. I needed her support to win not only the upcoming election but to run for the presidency one day.
But it wasn’t worth tolerating the backhanded comment I had once overheard her make about Sara. At the time, I gave Lilith her one and only pass. If I saw a repeat in the behavior, I’d ruin her life; campaign be damned.
Sara knew that I only kept up the façade out of obligation, whereas in reality, Lilith annoyed the shit out of me. So, on the night of the dinner party, Sara dutifully waited until the meal commenced to play her hand.
After dinner, the waiters brought out coffee for all the guests. Sara used a permanent marker to write ‘marry me’ on the bottom of Lilith’s cup, then filled it with coffee. Lilith read the words aloud and squealed, convinced that the proposal had come from me.
It was the first time I was speechless, not purposefully quiet.
Sara lived to dish out her own form of vengeance, one that I lived for. It was never violent, only just. She killed two birds with one stone by teaching Lilith a lesson for her micro aggressively charged racist comments while exacting the usual revenge against me.
In retaliation, I donated Sara’s clothes to goodwill and replaced her closet with exact replicas, only one size smaller. Sara had a flair for all clothes that were light in color (white or anything in pastel). She was a goddamn princess in that way and refused to wear any other colors. So, this prank was the one I was the proudest of. One she’d probably make me pay for dearly. My lips twitched into half a smile at the thought.
“What have you come up with so far?” I asked conversationally.
“If I tell you, it’ll take away the element of surprise, and I’d hate to disappoint you.”
“Ah, of course.”
Fuck, I loved sparring with her.
When we first met, I was wary of her presence in my life. After all, we were polar opposites.
She was talkative, while I was reserved.
She was sensitive, whereas I was impassive.
She was warm, and I was aloof.
There was only one characteristic we shared—Vengeance.
Our rivalry on the day we met had turned into a lifetime of pranks and schemes to torture one another. Over the years, I began to crave going head to head with her.
Once, I took a whole onion, dipped it into caramel, and told Sara it was a candied apple. The first bite was enough for her to gag and throw up.
She super glued the lids to my shampoo and conditioner, knowing full well of my attachment to my hair and the expensive products I invested in. I kept purchasing new bottles, unable to figure out why they’d work on day one, then mysteriously jam up.
For her retribution, I took the bag of Oreo cookies she had a weakness for and spent hours pulling each cookie apart, replacing the filling with white toothpaste. Sara wasn’t happy.
