The stitches on Oswald’s foot were healing quite nicely. Not
as much redness, not nearly as swollen as it once was, the pain was minimal at
worst, yet he still felt the need to keep his medical boot on for a few more
weeks. Plus, it felt weird staring at his own foot considering he was once
caught staring at Valerie’s feet mid-lecture.
The little guy, while sitting on his bed, put the boot back
on and hobbled toward his computer desk. He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to
look up first. Were his grades coming in yet? Did he need information about
Jessica Bradley’s funeral (if she had one at all)? Did he need to spend some
quality time on Porn Hub? Oswald’s mind raced so much in those few moments that
he couldn’t come up with a decent answer. “What the fuck is wrong with me?” he
asked.
While he couldn’t solve that Sherlock Holmes-esque mystery,
his eyebrows furrowed and his fingers drummed against the desk as he got an
idea of what he wanted. With Antero supposedly behind bars, was
Incelbordination still a thing? Did most of their members get arrested too? Was
there any truth in cutting off the head of the viper or did it just create a
power vacuum for even more rabid members to fight over? Oswald typed
Incelbordination in a Google search engine and his eyes widened at what he saw.
Any legitimate news stories covering this terrorist attack
were overshadowed by jilted male virgins voicing their displeasure at Antero’s
arrest. Some of these young men called for “The blood of Chads and Stacys
everywhere” and how “A few dead college bitches aren’t enough!” Some of these
dorks hailed Antero Magnus as a greater civil rights hero than the likes of
Martin Luther King, Jr., Thurgood Marshall, and Ruth Bader Ginsberg. One kid
suggested building a bronze statue of Antero raping a cheerleader and erecting it
downtown for everyone to see.
Bile rose in Oswald’s throat, but he knew puking all over
his computer would dislocate his ribs even further. His mind swirled with
questions asking over and over again what the fuck was wrong with these people.
His head lightened like a balloon ready to pop. He was so dizzy that he failed
to notice a familiar feminine voice calling his name until the last second.
He jumped around in his chair and saw Nikita standing in his
doorway with a few bags of pot in tow. Her face seemed to be lacking in color
as well as she struggled to say, “I refilled your medication for you, Oswald.”
“Uh…thanks…I, uh…really appreciate that,” said the dwarf
while shifting his eyes. Nikita’s own eyes widened as she tilted her head to
get a better view of Oswald’s computer screen. “What? What is it?” Suddenly
realizing why she gasped and held her mouth shut, he scrambled to find an
explanation. “It’s not what you think, Nikita! You have to believe me!”
Dropping the bags of marijuana on the floor, Nikita
stammered, “You’re sick. You’re fucking sick.” She attempted to storm out of
the building, but Oswald hobbled after her while pleading with her to wait and
allow him to explain.
The mini-chase led the two of them to the sidewalk where
Nikita sat on the curb trying to collect her tears. Oswald stopped for a moment
to let his foot stitches heal, but it was really to take in the
stomach-knotting sight of this beautiful lady crying before him. No, not just
any beautiful lady. It was the woman he had a crush on for so long and now he
offended her by virtue of his internet history.
He limped towards her and attempted to put a hand on her
shoulder only to have it swatted away. “No! Don’t touch me, Oswald,” Nikita
cried. Silence befell both of them for several heart-wrenchingly tense seconds.
Time itself stood still, not unlike Oswald, whose rising anxiety prevented him
from comforting her. Nikita wiped away more tears and ranted, “You mean to tell
me after all of this time and after all the positive messages sent your way
that you still feel the need to identify with those…monsters?! Are you that
starved for attention?”
Putting his hands up defensively, Oswald calmly said,
“Please, let me explain. I wasn’t looking up those threads for the reason that
you think. I needed to know if Incelbordination was still active and…as you
just saw…” He tucked his head in defeat, not knowing what else to say to her.
Nikita turned her head to face the sullen Oswald and said,
“Of course they’re still active. Sure, they have people who hate their guts,
but they also have supporters. Lots of them. There are people who support Al
Queda. There are people who support Nazis and the KKK and the Westboro Baptist
Church
“Nikita…you have to believe me. I don’t want to be a part of
Incelbordination. That’s not who I am. I may be lonely and depressed all the
time, but it would never occur to me to take the measures Antero has. In fact…I
think that man is a fucking scumbag…He hurt me just as much as he hurt everyone
else. That’s why I’m banged up right now. I don’t want to join him. I want to
bury him.”
In the midst of this handholding, Oswald hotly debated in
his own mind whether that moment was the right time to make his move. He could
end his loneliness forever by taking a chance. She couldn’t be any more hurt
than she was at that moment. What was a little hand petting going to do? He did
just that…and Nikita jerked her hands away and asked, “What are you doing?”
Oswald once again tucked his head in shame and profusely
apologized for his come-on. His heart thudded in agony and all he wanted to do
was retreat back into his dorm and sleep off the rest of the day. But just as
he turned around, Nikita placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “I can’t do
it, Oswald. I’m married.”
“…What? You’ve been…I mean…you’re not wearing a ring.”
Nikita knelt down to Oswald’s level and explained, “I know.
I had to sell it in order to pay for tuition. My husband had to sell his ring
too for his own expenses. I’m not just telling you these things to try and get
away from you. If I’m going to believe you’re not an incel terrorist looking
for someone to murder, then you need to believe that I’m happily married to the
man I love. And of course, I wouldn’t be married to him if I didn’t trust him
completely. You and I? We need to trust each other too. I’m not making excuses,
Oswald.”
The dwarf face-palmed and shook his head before taking a
seat on the curb. The silence between the two friends was heavy enough to
crunch Oswald’s ribcage all over again, as if his broken heart didn’t do enough
damage in that regard. “So what’s his name?” he finally asked.
“His name is Bill. He goes to school here. He’s a student
athlete.”
“Figures.”
Hands on her hips and eyebrows downward, she asked, “What’s
that’s supposed to mean?”
Oswald sighed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just
that…whenever I hear the words student athlete, I can’t help but think of guys
like Wacey Judge. I don’t have the best track record for getting along with
them seeing as how…I was…” He wiped away a singular tear. “I was almost killed
in high school.”
Her face softening, Nikita placed her hands on Oswald’s
shoulders and said, “Bill is not a stereotypical jock, if that’s what you’re
asking. He’s one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met. You’d like him too. He is
definitely not a Chad
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Nikita sighed. “Listen, I just came by here to drop off your
medicine. I have to get going now. Bill’s picking me up for a dinner date in
half an hour. If you’re ever feeling lonely or you need a friend to talk
to…don’t ever go back to those incel message boards.”
“Wouldn’t dream of that either.”
Nikita patted Oswald on the head and said her goodbyes
before turning heel and walking away. The dwarf continued sitting on the curb
even though the couch in his dorm room was a more comfortable option. How could
he get up with his heavy heart weighing him down? How could he send another
storm of pain through his body just to retreat into his personal space?
Instead he just buried his face in his knees and allowed his
tears to drop like summer rain. He didn’t give a damn if anybody was watching.
Chances were good they didn’t care if he got his heart broken anyways. Piling
that on top of Jessica’s death, Antero’s transgressions, and his own
battle-scarred body and he could have just slept on the sidewalk all he wanted.
Concrete? A mattress? What was the fucking difference when he felt bad either
way?
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