The best revenge

The humiliation had been a slow burn, a persistent itch under Leo’s skin. For months, Mark – a thick-necked, perpetually sneering behemoth – had made his life a misery. Shoving in the hallways, relentless taunts about his clothes, even stealing his lunch money. Leo was small, quick, but ultimately no match for Mark’s brute strength.

Then came his sister, Maya, and her new boyfriend: David. David, Mark's older brother. It was a cosmic joke, a knot of fate tying Leo even tighter to his tormentor. Leo hated David almost as much as he hated Mark, simply by association.

But Maya, bless her oblivious heart, was also his unlikely savior. During dinner one night, she casually mentioned, 'David told me Mark's parents are out of town this weekend. And he was complaining about having to remember the new code to the front door – 1234, right?'

Leo’s mind sparked. Revenge. It was a dark, forbidden fruit, but he was starving for it.

That night, as the moon cast long shadows across the quiet suburban street, Leo found himself standing before Mark’s house. He punched in 1234. The door clicked open. A wave of adrenaline surged through him, mixed with a potent cocktail of fear and excitement.

He crept inside, the house silent except for the muffled bass thumping from the living room. Mark was sprawled on the couch, asleep in nothing but a pair of boxers. Leo’s stomach churned, but he pushed past the revulsion. He’d come too far.

He'd meticulously planned his attack. Digging through his dad's toolshed, he’d found an old, heavy-duty bike lock. Now, his hands trembling slightly, he threaded the lock through the leg hole of Mark's boxers, up and over the thick metal railing underneath the couch, and clicked it shut. The finality of the snap echoed in the quiet room.

Next, he tiptoed down the hallway to Mark’s room. Drawers full of expensive designer boxers. Leo rummaged through them, a slow smile spreading across his face. He emptied the drawer, stuffing Mark’s precious underwear into a plastic garbage bag. Then, from his own closet – a stash his mother had mistakenly bought him years ago, embarrassing relics he’d managed to hide – he pulled out a handful of tighty-whities, adorned with cartoon characters. He carefully arranged them in Mark’s drawer and closed it.

The final touches. Mark's belt, hanging on a hook – a quick slice with Leo’s pocketknife weakened the leather. Then, a few snips to the elastic waistband of his jeans, enough to ensure a slow, agonizing sag.

He slipped out of the house, the weight of his mission lifting with each step. He felt lighter, cleaner.

The next morning, Leo braced himself for the inevitable confrontation. The thought of Mark discovering his handiwork filled him with a strange mix of dread and anticipation.

He didn't have to wait long. News traveled fast in the hallowed halls of their high school.

Mark, it seemed, had woken up in a state of bewildered panic, his boxers inexplicably locked to the couch. After a frantic, silent struggle, fueled by a growing sense of horror, he’d managed to free himself – but not before attracting the attention of David, who had dissolved into laughter.

He’d then discovered the underwear swap. Forced to choose between going to school in his pajama bottoms or donning the cartoon-covered briefs, he’d reluctantly chosen the latter.

Leo watched from afar as Mark, swaggering as usual, but with a distinct hint of unease in his gait, approached him near the lockers.

'Hey, shrimp,' Mark started, his voice thick with suppressed rage. Leo braced himself.

But then it happened.

SNAP!

Mark's belt gave way. His jeans, already compromised, began to droop.

His friends, usually eager participants in his bullying, erupted in snickers. Mark, flailing to keep his pants up, turned crimson.

And then… the waistband of his briefs peeked out.

It was all it took.

Someone yelled, “Wedgie!”

Before Mark could react, his friends had grabbed him, hoisted him towards the chain-link fence surrounding the schoolyard, and secured his briefs – with agonizing precision – to the top rung.

Leo watched, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips, as Mark writhed on the fence, suspended in the air, his cartoon-clad shame on full display. His tormentor, finally, was the one being tormented.

He knew it was wrong, probably illegal. He knew the satisfaction wouldn't last forever. But for that one, glorious moment, as the morning sun glinted off the chain-link fence, Leo felt a sense of peace he hadn't known in months. He had finally taken back a piece of himself. And the taste of victory, no matter how bitter, was sweet.