When revenge could be therapeutic!

By Bunmi Sofola HELL might have no furry like a woman scorned, but some have found ways of making the pain more bearable by seeking revenge. When Rele moved in with her boyfriend of 18 months, she was ecstatic. But, I warned that living together seldom lead to marriage. That where it did, the marriage didn’t last that long. But, would she listen? She was in love.

They both had well-paid jobs and when she moved in with Josh, they combined incomes to live a life of luxury. They started discussing wedding and Rele was elated. She rubbed my prediction about living together all over my face; so, I wished her luck. Months after, she was back at mine – only this time – I was consoling her Josh, had told her there wasn’t going to be a wedding, said they were over.

“I think there might be someone else,” she sobbed. She didn’t need to be very bright to figure that out. I thought, but didn’t say anything. “What a scumbag!” she spat. “I feel broken, humiliated and wish I could hurt him half as much as he’d hurt me. My friends have urged me to seek revenge but what could I do? This is Josh, the love of my life. I couldn’t do anything to hurt him.

Besides, until I find somewhere else to live, we’re still sharing the flat though I sleep in the guest room.” A few days later, Rele was back. “Would you believe Josh had the guts to bring his new girlfriend to the club?” She shrieked. “Some of our friends saw them together virtually glued at the hips. Well, this is war. I’ll make him regret ever dumping me.” I warned her to cling to the few pride she had left.

What sort of revenge would she carry out whilst still living with this cad of her’s? With a determined look, she left, promising to see me soon. She looked relaxed and contented the next time I saw her, “I’ve moved to my parents’ temporarily.” She informed me. Good! Now she could start picking the pieces of her life and move on. “But, I got my revenge,” she said cheekily.

My eyes widened. “A few days before I left, I played my trump card. While he was away at work, I cut up some fresh mild chillies then opened his pants drawer and rubbed the chillies against the crotches, careful not to leave any seeds. After that, I could hardly wait to get home from work each day and find him squirming on the sofa. He was obviously in agony.

Good! He deserved it! Only the next week, I saw all his pants on the washing line. Was I a suspect? Yet, I couldn’t resist one more go at making him really suffer. “Sniggering, I brought in his pants as soon as he went out and laid them on the kitchen worktop. This time I used the small red peppers soaked in water and sprinkled it on his paints. When I’d finished, I hung the pants back on the line then, went to a friend’s.

The next morning, I heard the roars of agony from the bathroom. I rushed to find him in real pains and I burst out laughing – I just couldn’t hold back my laughter. If looks could kill, I would have dropped dead from the murderous look he gave me. “I know what you’ve been doing,” he hollered, charging towards me. I ducked. Still in hysterics, I made a run for the office.

I felt really good Before he came back, I’d already taken time off to move my things. I went to stay with a friend before mum encouraged me to come back home. Aunty B getting even was really the best therapy. I’m no longer depressed. For me, revenge wasn’t sweet – it was pepperish!” Rele’s experience reminded me of what happened to another friend years ago when her husband dumped her after 14 years of marriage and two kids.

“Was that it after all the year we’d been together? Wasn’t he even going to try to save our marriage? Didn’t seem like it,” she cried. “Whenever he came by to see the kids and pick up his post, we quarrelled. We even got physical once and he went home with a torn shirt. When I later saw his female colleague’s fancy car parked in front of his flat, I got suspicious.

Were they an item? A few days later, I saw them again, laughing hand in hand as they got out of her car. As I marched furiously towards them, the woman approached me. She started firing questions at me, and said I shouldn’t have descended so low as to tear his clothes. ‘It’s none of your business,’ I shouted at her, then strode away. “As I left, she continued hurling abuse.

How dared she? I was the one who was left heartbroken with two kids to raise. I went home shaking with rage. Later, I asked my driver to visit the flat when it was dark. If the trollop’s car was still there, he was to do as much damage as he could to it. The poor man had never seen eye to eye with my ex and was quite happy to do the did. Later, he told me he’d taken a large screwdriver with him and plunged it into the car’s door.

He’d then dragged it along to the bonnet, ripping the paintwork of the fancy car. He was about to proceed with the other side of the car when he sensed movement and he left – fast! “The next day, my ex was round mine wanting to know if I knew anything about the damage to the car. I showe