The Art of Revenge

Chapter 1

You were healthily addicted to your cell phone, the way most twenty-first centuriers were. It offered you safety, connection, entertainment, news, directions, and food delivery. You lived a pretty happy digital life. You avoided the toxic corners of social media, successfully skirted wasting money on fad product trends (well... success is a relative term...) and spent most of your time smiling at the hilarious memes posted by friends, rolling your eyes at your step-mother and future-mother-in-laws aggressive "wedding suggestions" emails, and squealing at the romantic and occasionally naughty texts from your fiancé.

Today, however, as you looked down at the black, cracked screen - your thumb hovering over the lock button - your pink-cased smartphone more so resembled a ticking time bomb, rather than a miniature computer.

You had turned the sounds and vibrations off days ago. The endless stream of notifications and phone calls since "it happened" had frayed your patience and your nerves. You couldn't stand to hear another "I'm here for you!" or "I'm sorry!" or "You should [insert unprompted advice]" without wanting to vomit. The only reason why you wanted to vomit was because the alternative was going to cost you several court appearances for attempted murder, vandalism, and arson - and you were reasonable enough to know that the bastards who already ruined your life weren't worth ruining your future.

But, since vomiting only seemed like a self-punishing form of anger - and that didn't seem fair either - you decided that you could channel your hate for the world in other ways.

That brought you to this moment: parked along the shoulder of a two-lane highway, flanked by old, tall trees, hours away from your civilization, staring down at your phone as you decided which crisis you were going to address first when you finally unlocked the screen.

You pressed your thumb and the screen lit up, prompting you for a password. You scrunched your nose as the lockscreen notification indicated that you had received another slew of text messages, notifications, emails and missed phone calls. A wiser person would have started blocking numbers and addresses - but you weren't wiser... you were vindictive... and thus, you needed those numbers unblocked so that you could execute your plan accordingly.

You punched in your passcode, and immediately scoffed as you came face to face with your wallpaper. It was an engagement photo of you and your fiancé, hugging each other tightly, and beaming into the photo lens with bright smiles. Of all the photos that had been taken that session, this one wasn't the best of the lot. The sun was hot and painfully bright, meaning neither of you could see. In fact, tears from trying to keep your eyes open had streaked your mascara. Chris - your fiancé - had also begun to sweat beneath his dress shirt, and the wind blew both your perfectly coiffed hairstyles out of place. But you remembered vividly how happy you had been when that photo was taken. Chris had made some ridiculous joke about life being about "as good as it sweats", and although his puns were usually met with jeers and boos, you couldn't help but fall into a fit of laughter. Life with him was always a bit corny, but fun as hell. He held you tight against him, and you pressed your cheeks together as you laughed stupidly towards the photographer.

You should have changed your wallpaper the moment you walked in on Chris, your fiancé, fucking your Maid of Honour, Stephanie. But you decided that, for now, you needed to be reminded of his face. You needed to remember why you were putting an obscenely high number of miles on your car. You needed the anger to flush your system and strip you of all trepidation. You needed your inhibitions gone, so you felt no remorse about fucking the man whom Stephanie called "the love of her life."

Perhaps, we should back up...

Stephanie and yourself had been inseparable since middle school. She was your best friend, and you had remained loyaly at each other's side through the chaos and mess of your formative years. University was the only thing that pulled you two apart - but, despite the time zone difference between your respective schools, you stayed in touch. That was when you first heard about Jeon Jungkook.