Revenge

 

I will take revenge, I will take revenge, and my revenge will be terrible. The man walked quickly, stumbling and muttering under his breath. The words rushed to his lips. "You will remember me. No one will mess with me with impunity, no one will make fun of me with impunity, no one will ever laugh at me." The man quickened his pace, now almost running. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot. He stared sightlessly into the open space. "

Nobody!" A scream escaped his lips, a terrifying, even furious shriek that caused the few passersby at this hour to stop and stare.

Suddenly, as if the fog around him had suddenly cleared, the man realized that more and more people were stopping and pointing at him. "Calm down, you know you can't draw attention to yourself," he admonished himself quietly. He raised his head, looked around, and with an effort summoned what he thought was a smile. In reality, the grimace that twisted his lips was more like a paroxysm, a mixture of pain and rage. "

Are you all right?" the older woman asked with concern in her voice. "

Can we help you?" the second woman asked, anxiously examining his transformed face.

"You don't look your best," the distinguished-looking man with the briefcase standing nearest him practically shouted in his ear.

Suddenly, questions began to pour in from every direction, intrusive, unwanted, unnecessary. Questions that disrupted his concentration, distracted him, keeping him from focusing on what was most important right now—a brilliant plan of revenge that would drive this bitch mad. And to death. A plan that had to be completed, a plan that would lead to death, a glorious, sweet, double death.

He knew he had to calm down, knew he couldn't explode, knew he had to remain calm at all costs. But it was becoming increasingly difficult. The crowd around him seemed to thicken, closing in on the man, enveloping him like a fog, ready to devour him, to rob him of his last vestiges of power. "What vestiges?! What vestiges!" the man sternly reprimanded himself. "I have power. I always have, and I still do. And no one, absolutely no one, will take it away from me. No one, especially not you!" He suddenly realized he had to say those last words aloud.

He forced himself to raise his head, and when he did, his face was calm, smooth, seemingly immobile. It was a perfect mask, carefully concealing everything that was happening inside him. There was no trace of his recent rage, no hint of the feelings and doubts that tore through him. For a moment, he was transformed into one of them. No, not even one of them, one of the City's residents. He had learned to hide his feelings so well, as every single one of the City's residents wished they could. But at first glance, he resembled them. Fortunately, it was enough. He knew it was enough. People, no matter how curious, forget quickly. Yes, fortunately for himself, even in childhood, very early in life, while still practically in his cradle, he had learned to perfectly mask and conceal his true feelings. This skill, as it later turned out, would prove useful to him many times in life. It was the only way to reach his mother—or so he thought at the time. But that bitch, that whore, who had the audacity to call herself his mother, and she proved insensitive to it. "

I'm fine," the man said with a charming smile, the kind that had often helped him out of the greatest troubles caused by his erratic, explosive temper, a smile that invariably won him the favor of all women, regardless of age, and the reluctance of men.

"Everything's fine," he repeated. "I was a little nervous. You see," he turned to the nearest woman, about 45, who had been watching him for a long moment and who seemed the most concerned. "Or curious," the man muttered to himself—yes, that was probably a better word. "You see," he repeated, trying to appear deeply concerned and concerned, "I just found out that my only, beloved, younger sister needs surgery." True, the doctors—well, they say it's nothing serious—but the mere fact of being in the hospital isn't pleasant, and what with the surgery...

Oh, poor thing—the woman looked at him sympathetically. "What terrible news.

And what kind of surgery is this?"

It was clear the woman was about to bombard him with questions, but the man knew he couldn't bear another word. If everything was going to end well, if no one—except that bitch, he thought—was going to get hurt today, he had to leave. He had to leave as quickly as possible, hide like a wounded, suffering animal, retreat to the warmth of his own den, and make plans. Or rather, not so much make plans as perfect them. He already had a plan. A plan he'd started hatching months ago, as soon as he'd learned that bitch was cheating on him. He didn't quite believe it, but today he'd seen it with his own eyes... How dare she! He thought. How dare she cheat on him?! And on whom?! Him!? Him, who had everything? Who could have done anything?

I'm sorry, but I really have to go now." The man looked around pleadingly, as if searching the dense crowd for understanding and help to free himself from his talkative neighbor. "I still have to notify my family... They're so worried...

Of course, of course, we won't detain you," voices echoed around them, and the crowd looked reproachfully at the curious woman, who now looked deeply embarrassed.

"I hope everything ends well," she said. "And I'm sorry I was so nosy.

It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter," the man said. "Goodbye.

Goodbye."

The man walked away slowly, very slowly, even though he felt like running as fast as he could. However, he knew he had to avoid arousing suspicion at all costs. He knew that if his plan was to be carried out as he envisioned, he could make no mistakes. Above all, he could not draw attention to himself. He had to remain what he had been in people's eyes: a gray, inconspicuous man, an unobtrusive passerby whom no one would remember, whom no one would pay much attention to.

The man turned onto an empty, unfrequented street and headed towards the sewers. This was the only way to get to where he had been keeping his treasure for the past few weeks, where he would show that bitch who was boss, who would have the last laugh. All that remained was to perfect the plan, perfect it. But first, he had to calm down, had to calm down. And he could only do that in one place, the place that had always been his home, better and truer than the "home" where he had been born, raised, and lived for a while.

As he approached the sewers, he caught a whiff of a scent that would have long since deprived a normal person of their sense of smell and taste for weeks. But he was used to it. How many times, as a child, just a few years old, had he run away from home and hidden in the sewers? How many times, wanting to avoid another beating from his father, or a beating from his mother for doing it, for not defending himself, for even daring to mention it, had he hidden in the one place where he knew they wouldn't look for him. Until then, whispered a malicious voice in his head. Yes, until then, the man thought, unlocking the complicated lock on the old, rusty padlock and descending a rope ladder, prepared and perfectly concealed in advance. Until finally, his beloved father, by some miracle, managed to track him down. To this day, the man didn't know whether his father had been following him since he fled home that tragic day, or whether he'd somehow managed to find out where his son was hiding. Whatever the case, he found him and, satisfied that no one would disturb them this time, was ready to get to work. Fortunately for the man, a stone was nearby. Whether he had prepared it himself, or whether it was simply a twist of fate, the man still didn't know. Or perhaps he didn't want to know. Suffice it to say, thanks to that stone, his suffering ended forever. His mother soon shared his father's fate – he wasn't so brutal towards her; a simple bit of arsenic in his soup was enough, and the problem was solved. Who would have suspected a small child, barely five years old? The house was repossessed, and it turned out the mortgage was heavily burdened. Well, Mom always liked to show off. And Dad was no better. They lived carefree, beyond their means, without considering the future, what would happen to him, or providing for their only child. The man was left with nothing. Initially, they considered placing him in an orphanage or foster care – a move that would inevitably have resulted in further deaths. Fortunately for those around them, after a long search among immediate and extended family, someone finally agreed to care for him. He was taken in by some aunt on his mother's side (a fifth, or even tenth, accomplice), who cared for him as best she could, trying at all costs to make him forget the nightmare he experienced when he found his mother's body. As best she could, she meant not interfering in anything he did. Sure, she sent him to school, but she didn't exercise much control over his grades (she herself had only completed five grades). If it weren't for the fact that he was very intelligent and actually enjoyed learning, he probably would have ended up like her. When she died, the man was 18, an adult, quite wealthy—his aunt had left him her entire fortune, which turned out to be considerable—handsome, and he could start life anew. He didn't have to work, but he knewThat he would attract attention (he lived outside the City, so how could he afford not to work? An inheritance? Fine, an inheritance, but where did his aunt get the money? After all, no one needed to know she was actually a whore serving the City's top financiers), that he might become the object of too much attention, so he took a poorly paid job as a waiter in a restaurant near where he lived. Until recently, he had thought it had been the best decision of his life – that was where he had met Laura, after all… Laura – the thought of her made his face change again. Laura, the most wonderful, the most wonderful, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Long, curly brown hair fell in thick waves down her beautifully shaped back. Large, dark chocolate eyes that widened whenever Laura was surprised and sparkled whenever she was happy. Laura had been coming to the restaurant for several weeks; she claimed she was lonely and new to the area. She always chose the same tiny table by the window, always alone, with a book or notebook. She would come in, greet people, sit down, order food, and eat, sketching, reading, or simply people-watching. Many times, the man wanted to approach her, propose a meeting, start a conversation. But he always lacked the courage. His friends would mock him, encouraging him to make the first move. However, they knew him well enough to know not to tease him for long, as that would send him into an uncontrollable rage. Like with Daniel, who would mock his colorful shirts, claiming they made him look gay. So he punched him, and because he was incredibly strong, he broke his nose with a single blow. That was the end of it, because the man didn't want to draw attention to himself, didn't want to show off his strength. If he wanted to, he could have broken Daniel in half. After this incident, which his friends carefully covered up by taking Daniel to the hospital and saying he'd tripped on a wet rag, the man gained respect and something else. Fear filled his colleagues' eyes. No one bothered him anymore, no one made fun of him. And so the days passed, bringing nothing new, nothing exciting. Until Laura appeared. The man knew a woman like her wouldn't be alone for long; he knew he had to make a decision as soon as possible, or he might lose his chance. And that prospect didn't sit well with him at all. After nearly three months, full of thoughts, considerations, plans, hesitation, and doubts, the man finally decided to make the first move. To his immense surprise, it turned out that Laura had also long since noticed him. So they arranged a tentative first date, then a second, a third, and that was it. From that day on, Laura came to the restaurant whenever he finished work and waited patiently for him to leave. Then they went to her place or his—he kept his aunt's apartment.It seemed beautiful and pleasantly furnished to him, a fact Laura seemed to confirm with her behavior. She didn't talk much about herself, as she claimed, having been through a lot in her life and not liking to dwell on it. It was too painful for her. This, in turn, suited the man perfectly, as it meant he didn't have to talk much about himself either. Besides, there were so many interesting and engaging everyday matters that who would have the time or inclination to revisit the lousy—as he had for a time thought lousy for both of them—past? And so the days passed, days turned into weeks. It seemed that nothing could interrupt the idyll that had settled into his life, that nothing could finally destroy his happiness. That he had finally found a home. The problems began when he tried to make love to her. He discovered that she wasn't a virgin at all, which caused his penis to refuse to cooperate. After several unsuccessful attempts, he got the impression that Laura had begun to avoid him—she had less and less time, and she came to the restaurant less and less often. Until finally, a friend informed him that Laura had started dating a wealthy man from the City. Several times, the man had ambushed her, and what he saw had filled him with an indescribable rage. Laura, his beautiful, pure, and innocent Laura, had done things to him that would have made a professional whore proud. It was then, not yet fully conscious, that a plan began to form in his mind. The first signs of it began to appear. At first, they were shy, delicate, uncertain, as if he weren't entirely convinced he could hurt her, that he was capable of it. Finally, the man decided to talk to her. After much hesitation, he decided he had to find out the truth. He went to her today, certain that Laura would be able to explain it all to him, that everything would be alright, that they would be together again. The door was opened by an older man who might be his father and looked remarkably like him, and a drunken Laura was leaning over his shoulder. At the sight of him, she began to laugh, a laugh that penetrated every corner of his mind, that pierced his heart, that left no doubt.His penis refused to cooperate. After several unsuccessful attempts, he had the impression that Laura had begun to avoid him – she had less and less time, she came to the restaurant less and less often. Finally, one of his friends informed him that Laura had started dating some rich man from the City. Several times, the man had ambushed her, and what he saw had filled him with an indescribable rage. Laura, his beautiful, pure, and innocent Laura, had done things to him that would have made a professional whore proud. It was then, not yet fully conscious, that a plan began to form in his mind. The first signs of it began to appear. At first, shy, delicate, uncertain, as if he weren't entirely convinced he could hurt her, that he was capable of it, that he was capable of it. Finally, he decided to talk to her. After much hesitation, he decided he had to find out the truth. He went to her today, certain that Laura would be able to explain it all to him, that everything would be alright, that they would be together again. The door was opened by an older man who might have been his father and who looked remarkably like him. A drunken Laura leaned over his shoulder. At the sight of him, she began to laugh, a laugh that penetrated every corner of his mind, that wounded his heart, that left no doubt.His penis refused to cooperate. After several unsuccessful attempts, he had the impression that Laura had begun to avoid him – she had less and less time, she came to the restaurant less and less often. Finally, one of his friends informed him that Laura had started dating some rich man from the City. Several times, the man had ambushed her, and what he saw had filled him with an indescribable rage. Laura, his beautiful, pure, and innocent Laura, had done things to him that would have made a professional whore proud. It was then, not yet fully conscious, that a plan began to form in his mind. The first signs of it began to appear. At first, shy, delicate, uncertain, as if he weren't entirely convinced he could hurt her, that he was capable of it, that he was capable of it. Finally, he decided to talk to her. After much hesitation, he decided he had to find out the truth. He went to her today, certain that Laura would be able to explain it all to him, that everything would be alright, that they would be together again. The door was opened by an older man who might have been his father and who looked remarkably like him. A drunken Laura leaned over his shoulder. At the sight of him, she began to laugh, a laugh that penetrated every corner of his mind, that wounded his heart, that left no doubt.

It's him, the one I told you about," Laura choked with laughter. "Tiny and soft.

Get out of here, Laura finally found a real man, not some pseudo-who-knows-what like you," the old man sneered.

The man fled, and their mocking laughter chased him for a very long time. The plan he'd spent months refining, perfecting, like his life's work, was ready. He knew exactly, step by step, what he had to do, he knew when, he knew how the whole undertaking would end. He'd worked out the plan meticulously, down to the smallest detail, considering every possibility, carefully weighing all the pros and cons. There was no situation he hadn't foreseen, no possibility he hadn't considered. The plan was brilliant. He shook his head, freeing himself from the weight of his thoughts. He walked slowly, carefully along the canal bank, knowing he couldn't afford the slightest mistake. The trap he'd prepared was for Laura, not for him; he had to be careful not to fall into it himself.

My little one, how are you feeling? The man approached the cage, where something began to churn and shake at the sound of his voice. "I see you're doing well, you haven't lost any of your energy. Today I'll finally take you out of here, we'll go to the cottage, and tomorrow, tomorrow..."

The man burst into hysterical laughter, which made his hair stand on end and sent shivers down his spine. He carefully lifted the heavy cage and started back. Unmolested and unmolested by anyone else, he calmly reached home.

Inside the apartment, he gently placed his weight on the living room floor. The cage seemed to have a life of its own; something was desperately trying to escape. "

Easy, easy," the man whispered. "Soon, and you'll be free. Then I'll carry out my plan."

At the sound of his voice, the cage stopped moving, as if its occupant understood what the man meant.

Tomorrow morning, tomorrow, finally..."

The man ate his Friday dinner, his usual Friday nights—fried potatoes and beans—and washed it down with a Coca-Cola, watched the TV program, and then went to bed. He knew his plan was perfect, he knew this female dog had no chance. He also knew her lover would pay dearly for what he was about to do. That was the second part of his genius—not him, but that prick, that disgusting old man, would be responsible for everything. Several months of preparation gave him complete certainty that he hadn't made a single mistake. He deliberately stopped trying to contact Laura as soon as possible after he realized she was cheating on him. Sure, she came back to the restaurant a few more times, wanting to talk, wanting to explain, she claimed, wanting to apologize. But he was never there. And even when he was, he told his friends to tell her he had nothing to say to her, that he forgave her, that he understood, that everything was fine. It was hard for him; many times he wanted to explode, to wring that bitch's neck, but he knew that to carry out his plan to the extent he wanted, he had to first confuse her. He had to convince her that everything was alright, that nothing was happening, he had to calm her down. Make her feel safe, so that she wouldn't even for a split second entertain the thought that he might be threatening her. And he succeeded, he knew he had succeeded. Laura slowly stopped coming, only occasionally, as if not fully believing, as if trying to test him, sometimes she would appear with different men. But he was unfazed. Calm as a rock. And Laura stopped coming. She thought he had vanished from her life forever. She didn't know that the man had been following both her and her lover. Yes, he knew perfectly well that all those men she'd been bringing to the restaurant were a ruse, that she'd done it all just to elicit some kind of reaction from him. She was beautiful and accustomed to male attention. She wasn't used to being resisted. It was impossible for her to grasp that she wasn't interested anymore, that everything was over, that he wasn't going to fight for her. She tried with every means and method she knew to get his attention. But he seemed to have grown indifferent. And Laura seemed to finally understand that he no longer cared about her, that he'd gotten over it and, in fact, forgiven her for what she'd done to him. That he understood that's how life is sometimes. And finally, she gave up, stopped showing up at his restaurant, stopped pretending she was dating a horde of men. She went back to the old man. Then the man knew he'd achieved what he wanted. And then he began to formulate his plan. It took him a long time, but the plan was ready.

Finally.

And tomorrow, tomorrow the real fun begins... But you like to have fun, don't you? Don't you, Laura? You do, I know you do...