After coffee, Amy offers me a mug of soup with some pasta in it. It’s like she’s read a how-to-be-a-student handbook and needs to prove that she knows all the tricks. I accept the pitiful rations she offers me and try to eat slowly. My usual portion would have covered hers as well, but I don’t want her to know that. Halfway through the soup the room shakes as Patrick turns his music on—no headphones for the Bear, and even Amy can’t help but roll her eyes. A few minutes later, I hear a bang on his door and Patrick booming, “Dickie! What? Turn it down? Why? This track’s banging!” I can’t help but sympathize with the poor sod who wants the Bear to shut the fuck up.
By the time we head to our lecture, Amy’s a bit subdued, and I don’t really like that. On the plus side, though, she’s quite happy to sit at the back with me, so I don’t have to suffer another public meltdown trying to find a seat. This lecture is a two hour-er, and about forty minutes in I’m struggling to keep my eyes open. The Powerpoints blur, and my mind starts wandering. Judging by the way Amy is surreptitiously fiddling with her phone under the bench in front of her, I’m not the only one struggling to pay attention.
I start to doodle, nothing specific at first, but then the lines come together to form one of my favorite computer game characters, and before I know it, I’m bent over my page, hatching, shading, sweeping lines in blue ink—
“What’s that?” Amy whispers, gesturing to my page.
I hastily try to cover up the doodle with one hand. “N-nothing.”
“It’s good. I didn’t know you could draw.”
“I can’t. Not really. Just a silly hobby. I don’t take it seriously.”
“You should. You’re good! He’s gorgeous. Who is it?”
“Just a game character I like,” I mutter.
“A game? I like games. Maybe you could show me it sometime?”
“Um, yeah, if you like.”
Amy says something in reply, but I’m not really listening because I’m too busy thinking Not on your fucking life. These are mine and mine alone—unless I’m posting them up anonymously, and even then . . . yeah. It’s complicated. I’m constantly caught between wanting to share and the fear of making myself that vulnerable. Needless to say, I haven’t posted anything since I started trolling. All it takes is someone to realize the person tearing them apart also fancies herself as a bit of an artist, and my carefully constructed house of cards comes crashing down.
But, at the same time, I can’t quite bring myself to delete my page . . .
“Oh, Fisher’s looking twitchy. Better shut up.”
I glance up, and indeed, Dr. Fisher is glaring in our direction.
Good old Dr. Fisher. I think I like him.
***
At the end of the lecture, Amy wants me to go back to halls with her, but I make my excuses and head home. Tonight is Wednesday night, and I babysit the kids down the road on Wednesdays so their mum, Mrs. Olgive, can go to her night class. This is one of the up-sides of being fugly: whereas people your own age generally shun and belittle you, older people, especially mothers, tend to trust you over your skinnier peers. Maybe they think you’re less likely to organize an orgy while they’re out. It’s not much, but it means I get a bit of money each week to myself. Enough to maintain my stash of secret chocolate, anyway.
And speaking of secret chocolate, it’s time to go and replenish the stash. Luckily there are three mini-marts, a Tesco Local, and a small Sainsbury’s all within a ten minute walk, so I can buy a couple of £1.00 four-packs in each without the cashier giving me funny looks. Yes, I know this is the behavior of someone with a problem, but fuck it. If I’ve got to put Natalie and Jordan to bed tonight, I’m going to need something to keep my strength up.
As it happens, Natalie and Jordan are pretty much the cutest kids ever. And I feel for them. I know what it’s like, to have your dad decide you’re not good enough. At least they’re young enough that they might not remember what it was like to even have a dad, unlike me.
Half an hour after Mrs. Olgive leaves for her class, they’re scampering up to bed. I read them Hoot Owl, and after one request for a drink of water and one subsequent bathroom visit, they’re both fast asleep, so I retrieve my four-pack of Bounties from my backpack (a quid for four chocolate bars! What a time to be alive), get my laptop out, and log into Mrs. Olgive’s Wi-Fi.
The flutter’s there when I sort my proxies out, and boy, there’s a real smorgasbord of treats on the menu tonight. Freedomchick04’s roasting has taken on a life of its own, and I can’t help but wonder just how many other people like me are out there—people who are completely alienated by these so-called perfect specimens and just want a good excuse to take them down a notch.
Metachat pops up, asking me if I want to accept a password. Is it really Tori? If so, she’s quick. I’ve only just had a chance to check on a couple of profiles. She probably realized I was online when the infamous SharkKrawler9 logged in to check on Freedomchick. Still, I’m not sure if I should be flattered that she’s waiting for me, or weirded out that she’s monitoring me.
Hey!
she says as soon as I accept her chat request.
All right?
No. Shit day. Fucking numbskulls everywhere.
Yeah—know what you mean. You ok?
Will be once we’ve destroyed the fucker.
Absolute dickhead. Name’s John Corlen. Wanna join in?
Well, how is a girl supposed to turn down such a lovely invitation?
Who is he?
Sub-level boss. Such a cockmuncher.
Wish I could push him under a train, but I can do the next best thing.
Mrs. Corlen, say hello to Alexandra, John’s “mistress.”
Wow—you found that out?
What? No, fuck off. Alexandra doesn’t exist.
But Mrs. Corlen doesn’t know that.
Getting into his account should be a piece of piss—just need to lay the breadcrumbs, expose him, et voila!
She’s my dream. She’s my nightmare.
Turns out, the kind of plot Tori’s cooked up is as much fun as straightforward trolling. I realize now that I’m really just an amateur with a gift for acidic comments. I can whip up a crowd and make them dance to my tune, but I’ve never had the guts to actually hack accounts to orchestrate the outcome I want. That’s a whole new level for me, a whole new learning curve. And it’s steep. Yeah, I know how to craft an online persona, but most of mine are as 2D as possible, so no one can trace me. When you’re hacking to set someone up, you need to be able to wear your victim’s skin so no one will realize it isn’t them. Any doubts, and the whole thing comes crashing down.
This time, Tori wants me involved. She’s going to be Corlen, and I’m Alexandra. We’ve nabbed some pictures off some dodgy Russian dating website—she’s gorgeous, whoever she is, with long dark hair and big blue eyes—but not so gorgeous people won’t believe. I soon discover it’s fun being someone else. Tori-as-Corlen flirts with “Alexandra” over chat. We exchange photos. Nowadays it seems like everyone has a dick pic somewhere, and as predicted, Creepy Corlen has one buried in his cloud account. Alexandra gets that and obliges with a couple of fingers rammed up her fanny. I am laughing so much at this point that I worry I’m going to wake up the kids, but it’s okay. They’re dead to the world when I go and check up on them, oblivious to the utter devastation that is being wreaked.
I’ve had so much fun, I’ve only eaten one of the Bounties and I haven’t touched the penguin bar and can of Coke she left out for me. Hey, maybe this is the secret—do something fun and you forget to eat. No wonder skinny people always look so damn happy.
I’ve decided Alexandra is going to stick around. I quite like her. She’s a sexy, confident woman who knows what she wants and goes for it, even if it’s a balding man in his late-forties with a mid-level job in a boring insurance firm, a wife, and two kids.
I do feel a bit of a pang when I find out about the wife and kids. Of course I knew he was married, but when the wife starts virtual sobbing over “Alexandra,” and the real John Corlen starts trying to deny it all and save his relationship, and she declares she’s taking the kids to her mother’s and she doesn’t know when she’ll be back, I do feel bad.
I wonder what he did to piss Tori off so much. It must have been serious for her to want to ruin his life.
Still, I stand by my assertion that Alexandra is fun. I do wonder if that makes me a bad person.
At ten thirty Mrs. Olgive gets home and pays me, telling me she doesn’t know what she’d do without me, so good, hope the kids weren’t too much hassle. I smile that weird, fake smile you give to parents when you tell them they were fine, to hide the fact that the minute they were in bed, all thoughts of their precious moppets flew out of your mind. Honestly, those kids could’ve been planning a riot up there, and I wouldn’t know.
I feel a bit of a pang for her, though. I know she struggles. Women tend to. I wonder why we’re so horrible to each other, then? You’d think we’d stick together a bit more, what with this being “a man’s world” and all, but we don’t. We’d rather gossip and fat shame and sneer and steal each other’s men. I wonder if life’s easier if you’re a lesbian. Do they have Alexandras to contend with? I suppose so. It’s all human nature, isn’t it? Life is so complicated sometimes, I do wonder why we bother at all.
I nip back home—Mum’s slumped in front of the TV watching generic US crime drama No. 6734. I think Brat’s in, judging by the heavy atmosphere. When I check in on Mum she nods at me and calls me a “good girl.” Heh. If only she knew.
Back upstairs, I secrete my three remaining Bounties away and feel oddly up on the deal. Then I plug my laptop in and go back to Tori, who is gleefully crowing about her takedown of the now infamous John Corlen.
Didn’t take long, did it?
Long for what?
For his wife to find out?
Oh, she’s had her suspicions for a while.
I needed you to play the other side so it looked authentic.
You were a star. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone else quite like you, you know.
An odd feeling stirs in my belly. I feel full, yet hungry. Butterflies flutter in my chest, a weird trembling sensation that makes it hard to type. I have felt this before, but it led to a place of hate and shame, and I promised myself I’d never go there again. I can’t help it though. This is completely involuntary. I haven’t even seen a picture of Tori, but I don’t need to. Attraction is more than just physical looks. Go ask anyone.
You’re welcome. I guess the scumbag had it coming.
Oh, he sure did. Fucking dickhead.
What did he do?
She pauses.
Just shit at work. Fucking bully. Takes advantage of his position.
I get the feeling Tori is dancing round the edge of the real reason. If she is alluding to what I think she is alluding to, I wish Alexandra had done more. I don’t feel bad about his wife and kids anymore. If anything, I now feel they’re well out of it.
You did what you had to.
Yeah. I did. Couldn’t have done it without you, tho. :) <3
It was nothing. Anything for you.
Same here. You name it, it’s yours.
I’ve never had so much fun or been able to sort out my shitty life before I met you.
So glad you replied to me and didn’t just block me.
I bite my lip. Wow. My fingers twitch as I dust them over my keyboard. How do I respond? Is this how friends talk to each other? I don’t really know. I’ve never really had what you might call a proper friend, not since primary school. Is this BFF stuff, or is it something more?
Do I want it to be something more?
I manage to type:
Come on :P. Let’s go make some more mischief.
^_^ I thought you’d never ask!