Page 8 of Sweet Vengeance

So, when her former co-workers had invited her to the bar, she’d said yes.

She should have said no.

Joy slammed her locker shut. She was still new here, and her new co-workers weren’t entirely comfortable with her just yet, so they didn’t disturb her as she exited the mega mart.

Joy’s plans since the incident were the same, except now it included her revenge. But every time she tried to imagine opening up to her new co-workers, something in her shrivelled up and recoiled, reminding her of the last time she’d done that. Which made her furious all over again, because she only felt that way because ofhim.

The supermarket might’ve finally closed, but the rest of the mall was still very much alive. She straightened her back, ignoring the creepy sensation that crawled along her spine every time she was in public. It always felt like there were eyes on her, now; it had felt that way since that night. Like everywhere she went, people werestaring—like they knew, and they pitied her for it. Joy clenched her jaw, her hand gripping tight to the strap of her handbag, where, within, her dagger lay hidden in wait, wrapped in folded cloth. She didn’t plan on doing anything with it, but it made her feel safer to have it on her person.

Joy hurried her steps. Sometimes, despite her need for revenge, she feared that she’d bump into him in a place like this, and he’d come to taunt her. Or worse, he’d try to converse with her like nothing happened, and even if she screamed and shouted and showed her discomfort, hardly anyone would intervene.

They were ridiculous scenarios, of course, because after the incident, when she’d thought going back to work and acting like nothing happened would make her look stronger—that it would make her lookbetterthan him—he’d pretended, too, laughing and cracking jokes with her and their co-workers as usual. She’d soon realised, with a bitter, soul-crushing epiphany, that his world had pretty much remained the same, while hers had been completely shoved off its axis.

It was far more realistic that if she accidentally bumped into him right now, she’d start viciously stabbing him and screaming her fury to the heavens. It was a tempting thought, but her plan to haunt him till she killed him would bring so much more satisfaction.

She turned on the next corridor, finally spying the exit. At the same time, someone left the shop to her right, nearly walking right into her.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the person began, then froze, their mouth audibly clicking shut.

The person was tall and slim, with warm, light brown skin. They were dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, their shoulder-length afro pulled up into a tight bun. In their left hand, they held a shopping bag, probably from the store they’d just exited, their purse in the other. The diamonds on their engagement ring glittered in the mall’s bright lights.

Joy’s first instinct was to ask what was wrong. Iyore only ever went shopping—outside of birthdays, holidays and other special occasions—when she was feeling stressed or upset.

“Joy,” Iyore breathed. Joy didn’t know if Iyore was surprised to see her,or scared.

It was probably the latter. Joy stared at her former best friend with what felt like horror. Memories of the last time they’d spoken flooded her, filling her with fury—with betrayal and anguish.

She began to shove past.

“Joy, wait, please,” Iyore said.

Joy ignored her, stomping away faster.

She grabbed Joy’s hand, tugging her back. Joy yanked her hand away and spun around, spitting, “Don’t fuckingtouchme.”

“I wanted to apologise!” Iyore cried.

“It’s too little, too late.”

“No, wait, Joy, you don’t understand—”

“And I don’t fucking care.” Your best friend was supposed to believe you immediately when you told them you’d been raped. Your best friend wasn’t supposed to ask whatyou’ddone. They weren’t supposed to ask if you weresure.

“Joy!”

Shame burned in Joy’s throat as she remembered trying toconvinceher fucking best friend of the truth, and Iyore’s response had been, “At least he’s a fine guy; you should even be flattered.”

And that had been the end of that. She hadn’t planned on telling Iyore about her plan to enact vengeance, but it would have been nice to know there was someone in her corner, someone who acknowledged that what had happened to her had been awful and shitty, and should never have happened in the first place.

Her eyes burned. Fuck.

“Joy, please wait!”

Joy spun around again, her hand clenching into a fist. If Iyore didn’t leave her alone, Joy was going to punch her in the throat.

“Me too!” Iyore yelled, forcing Joy to come to an abrupt halt. “Me too,” she repeated, her voice barely a whisper.

Then she burst into tears.

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