My Story of Revenge

One of my co workers organizes a mini Moth story hour. If you’re not familiar with the Moth, it’s a live/radio show you can catch on NPR or in person. The topics range from seduction to revenge. The goal of our group, aptly titled, “The Cocoon”, is meant to prep you for the actual Moth show. Participants are encouraged to come with stories or just listen in a safe space where food and drinks are provided.

I went to the first Cocoon meeting a month ago and loved hearing all the stories and positive feedback. Which made me pause and thank the universe for bringing me to such an amazing place that supports my creativity. Anyway, I didn’t have a story the first time I came but I decided I would have one the next meeting. I know, I know, who am I? Speaking in public and shit? Sharing personal stories? Big steps. The theme was revenge. So umm, ahem, here goes.

I used to be the crazy girlfriend.


My college boyfriend Vincent, that’s his real name, by the way, cheated on me. Many times. It was one of those crazy relationships everyone has to say they had. Lots of breaks ups and make ups.

The first time I “caught” him was back in 2005, we had only been dating a few months and I would come to LA to see him every weekend because I went to school in San Diego. I was getting ready to head back to San Diego on a Sunday evening when I got a call from Vincent. We had just gotten off the phone so I figured he forgot to tell me something. I pick up the phone and realize he’s butt dialed me. I start to hang up but he’s having a conversation with his friends. The nosey girlfriend in me wanted to know what he was talking about. So against the better judgment I didn’t have at 23, I listened. I listened to him tell his friends how he couldn’t wait to see some girl that night, how he was having a party that night and she’d be all over him and blah,blah,blah…I hung up. I called back to let him know I heard his conversation and that I was done with him. Just like that, months of dating, being in love, etc. I tossed our relationship to the side as if were dirty clothes in my room. He pleaded with me but I was very clear I didn’t want to speak to him ever again. I should have just went home after that, cried on the 2 hour trip home, and maybe missed my 8am class. But I didn’t. For the first time, probably in my whole life, I wanted revenge


I didn’t want to take the high road like I always did, I didn’t want to be the bigger person, like I always was. I wanted to be petty and I wanted to display my anger in a very unhealthy way. So I called a friend who I knew wouldn’t talk me out of what I wanted to do and within an hour I was picking her up along with another friend who couldn’t resist getting revenge, especially on a man.


We get to his house in Long Beach where we park ridiculously too far down the street and case the scene. We knew he was having a party so there could be people coming in and out of the house. But the street seemed quiet. Now was the perfect time. Just run out and do it real quick, no one will see, my irrational friend says. I don’t know, I don’t think I want to do this anymore, I say. The anger was starting to subside and responsible Kiana was starting to come back. What?! You didn’t drag me out of the house for nothing give me the knife, my friend says.


My friend takes the knife, runs up the street, and stealthy pops 2 of Vincent’s recently purchased Mercedes tires. I quickly drive to her and she hops in. I felt like we had just robbed a bank and I was the get away driver. We were all laughing excitedly at what just happened. The anger wasn’t back but my adrenaline was. I needed to vandalize his car as well. So we turn back on his street I run out and decide that instead of finishing off all his tires, I wanted to take the Mercedes hood ornament. I thought about keeping it as a souvenir of the relationship. I mentioned this before, but I was crazy. Anyway, I try to pull the hood ornament off and it’s not budging. After struggling with it for way too long and cutting up my hand pretty bad, I ran back to my car and skirt off. My friends cheer me on as if I was a war hero. Why was I so okay with vandalism, you ask? Because in the mind of a crazy girlfriend, you feel that he deserves it so you’re somehow above the law. Like if the police were to arrive I could just say he butt dialed me talking about another girl, and they’d let me off.


I don’t remember the drive back to San Diego that night I just remember his calls/texts the next day. He told me someone had slashed his tires, I say that’s very unfortunate. He went on to ask if I had done it and without lying I said no, I didn’t do it, also that I was in San Diego last night, which I was. He then second guessed himself and blamed it on the neighbors next door who always called the cops on him and his roommates for playing their music too loudly, a convenient coincidence.


To this day I don’t think he knows it was me. He may have had his speculations but he couldn’t prove anything. I learned a lot from that relationship; how you shouldn’t date anyone you can’t trust, how to love myself before I try to love anyone else, and that Mercedes hood ornaments don’t come off easy.




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