It gets worse

rated T * completed 5.18.19

It’s a cold, rainy day. This backpack is about the size of him and he’s running late to class. It’s almost a ball-and-chain to his back, it’s a burden pulling him down toward the concrete. The weight’s killing him and he fucking hates the world. His name is Jacob Kitchen and frankly, he thinks he’s a worthy contender for the unluckiest man on Earth.

With every step, his worn red and black Converse get a little bit shittier. The soles are coming off and the color’s all faded… not even his trendy skater grunge look could give them a pass. He wishes he’d watched the weather forecast closer that week as chills run up his spine from the puddles he’s trudging through.

The journey from his dorm all the way across campus to his film studies course seems more fitting as a walk of shame. No one accompanies him as no one can yet stand his presence. He’s long stopped contemplating the why’s and how’s of his unlikeability and grown satisfied in the reality that he… Jacob Kitchen… is simply a beta. Terminally. He lost the genetic lottery.

No one would ever love him, and he’d continue to lose for the rest of his physical life. Who is he really kidding? His height capped at 5’5, nothing more and nothing less. Hair grows on his neck haphazardly, no matter how hard he fights. Worst of all, he doesn’t have a chin. God practically doomed him to inceldom.

But a man his height can’t fight it… it isn’t even worthy for him to stress over. Jacob stuffs his hands in his soggy coat pockets as his black backpack proceeds to increase the severity of his existing scoliosis. The poor man is drenched in rain and his own misery— why doesn’t he go buy an umbrella?

Jacob’s saving his money for a very, very important necessity that follows right along with what was mentioned earlier, but we can’t get into that now. Right now, Jacob’s chest swells with relief as the door to Professor Silas’ building edges closer with each of his steps.

Heave. Ho.

Heave… oh… fuck.

Jesus… His back is breaking and his asthma is catching up to him. He’s sooo close, though… He briefly wishes he could drink the water falling from the sky before he feels the weight of a sixteen-wheel tractor trailer barrel into him from behind. He could hardly yelp in surprise before the grass meets his face and he’s confronted by the voice of his assailant.

“Watch where you’re crawling, snail boy!”

The voice isn’t exactly familiar to him… He couldn’t put it to a face, but to he’s able to mentally file it under ‘Alpha Fraternity Football Chad who’d cuck my imaginary girlfriend while I’m in the same room as them (and also fapping to my defeat).’ He’d met many of those during his earlier years in college. The only ones who acted like this were fresh out of high school, though.

A freshman. Disgusting.

“Ha ha, snail boy! Little snail getting smushed by his own shell!”

“Aw, is the ugly little snail gonna hide in his shell?”

Jacob’s getting too old for this shit. He just turned twenty that past summer…

He hears the faceless Chads cackle among themselves at their ginormous IQs. They probably put the attacker up to it so they could sit back like cowards and laugh. Jacob almost felt the desire to fight back, but he couldn’t bend the natural order of the world. He was in his place as a beta.

He waits until their sniggers are gone to begin picking himself up. He’s certainly late for class, and completely covered in mud. What the hell is he going to do now? His spine’s been shattered by the backpack and he looks like he’s just wallowed in shit. So close to his goal, too. Now do you see what he meant when he said he’s the most unlucky man in the world?

God, please… just make me a little bit taller… to protect me from this chaos.

Easily, Jacob's prayers would never get an answer. He limps to Professor Silas’ building in full kicked-puppy cosplay. It’s one of the many towers on the massive campus, which one could effortlessly get lost in. Jacob’s a pro, though. It’s his third year in the halls and Professor Silas has definitely seen him at his worst. It isn’t this, by the way.

Jacob can also vouch that the freshchads are indeed always like this. Every year without fail, they pool into the school teasing adults like it’ll be a do-over of petty high school days. Jacob’s just old enough with good sense not to entertain it. His cynicism laughs at the concept they’ll ever grow out of it.

Professor Silas’s class is… just… around the corner.

Heave. Ho. Squeak…

Every step reminds him that his shoes are begging to be put out of their misery and his waterlogged rubber ducks for socks are guaranteeing him a cold later that week. The weird stares passerbys shoot his way only emphasize his status as the lowest man in Augustus Garfield University’s hierarchy. His day could get worse, but it’ll take a good heap of shit to phase him.

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

Jacob’s sure he left a puddle behind him, but he finally made it… Fucking finally, glory hallelujah.

…into a room full of stares.

(Don’t worry, he’s experienced this all before! Nothing hurts him.)

Motherfucker… he actually mumbles that under his breath. In the dimly lit lecture hall, Professor Silas pauses his analysis of some art film he’s studied before— “Mr. Kitchen. I see you’ve finally come to dinner today.” —and the whole class chuckles at the mediocre jeer. Ha, ha. So fucking funny, Professor Silas.

Jacob would like to shoot them all one day.

That’ll come later, though. He’s too socially awkward to respond, so his lips stay glued shut. The only sound that’s audible in the now-silent auditorium is the squeaking from his suffering sneakers and a few leftover snickers from the quip.

Not the first row, not the second row… not third, fourth, fifth, even sixth?! Is every seat full? He meanders the entrance of the class in a panic… Dammit! Where can he sit, where can he sit? Shit, where, where?

“Are you done yet, Mr. Kitchen?”

“Motherfucker.” That one’s just a little bit louder albeit shakier, enough for the students near him to issue him looks that could paralyze. Why today of all days must the Film Analysis course have perfect attendance?

Jacob’s gone mute, he can’t announce there’s no more seats. Holy shit, is Professor Silas really going to do this to him? God, this whole class is getting the first wave of bullets. Everyone’s eyes were magnifying glasses hovered over an ant in the summer, burning him alive. Sweet hell, Jacob’s starting to feel an anxiety attack coming on.

He just… sits in a corner. Jacob Kitchen gives up and in his humiliation, he sits in a corner. He’s covered in mud, grass, and his face is red like a tomato. It’s okay, though, he soothes himself while wiping the grime off his person. This still isn’t his worst day. He’ll just treat himself with his paycheck when he gets home… all will be well!

Professor Silas finally decides to pause his sadism complex and unpause the lesson. Easily, Jacob starts to tune it out. He knows everything about this film as filmography is something of a special interest of his. He’s confident he knows more than the professor and he doesn’t need the work to tell him this— his perfect grade in the class says all you need to know.

Jacob just sort of… stares off into space. He’s not quite sure how much time is passing, and it truly doesn’t even matter. This is just a day of note-taking, on something he’s already a scholar on no less.

“Jacob…?”

Thin lips, rounded chin, a full chest and a slim waist… hm! This could be nothing other than a fantasy of a deliciously petite female. The little man licks his lips at the sight. She feels so real to him… her hazelnut eyes meet his stormy gray.

“I… want… you.” The foggy dream voice is meek but sweet like peppermint gum. It’s sticky and he wants to put his tongue and teeth all throughout it.

That’s what I like to hear. He’s got a slimy grin on his face— hopefully, no one’s still watching him. He’s too lost in his head to care. This isn’t really news as all of his escapist fantasies are usually baked from the prompts of brutally murdering his foes and securing bodacious broads.

“Is that right?” he replies to his mistress in a low and coercive voice. It probably came out more shaky and choked in person as Jacob’s not the best speaker, but the point still gets across. In this fantasy, he’s also over six feet tall. What can he say, he dreams big!

“Uhh, th-that’s what I’m trying to figure out from you!” She responds to him really nervously and tiny-like… in a not-fantasy way at all. What’s going on? That wasn’t really sexy… She’s not supposed to ask me any questions, she’s supposed to fling herself onto m—

“W-wait, what?” Jacob’s voice breaks as he blinks himself out of his delusion, looks up, and sees

Ohh god.

Mother of. God Almighty.

Sweet king of kings…

“I’m sorry, um! Maybe I was too quiet… Professor Silas wants me to work on this paper with you.”

“Ahh… I… um…” Jacob’s currently out of order right now, you’re going to have to give him a moment. His system crashed and it’s enduring a hard reset— all the water in his circuits wasn’t much help either. Now this?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even introduce myself!” The female seems almost as nervous as the melting man before her. “My name’s, uh, Robyn, but some of my friends call me Robbie… I’m a freshman!”

“Oh. I… hh…” Jacob can hardly meet her eyes. This is unreal. A female is speaking to him, right now. In real life. Not over a computer screen because he PayPals her a dollar every sentence, not because he’s five feet tall and looks like a sixth grader, not because he’s getting his braces tightened, not because she wants to know if he’d like ketchup with his fries—

“God, I’m talking so much, please forgive me! Am I making you embarrassed? Gosh, I’m so sorry about what the professor did… it was so mean of him to put you on the spot like that. Gee, if it were me, I’d give him a piece of my mind, heh heh!”

As she rambles about literally nothing, Jacob’s mind enters fight or flight mode. He knows this could very easily be the only experience he’ll ever have casually speaking to a female on good terms, so in that moment he catalogs every detail of the scene to a special exhibit in his mind.

Sweet, beautiful Robyn. The only flesh female who’s treated him with respect. He memorizes the way her gelled hair falls past her shoulders, a-and the gray windbreaker she wears hanging off one shoulder… her gentle little cleavage as it bounces with all of her gestures… sweet, sweet, princess Robyn.

Her shirt… so… tight… around her round and supple little tits…

“I’m, uhm, J-Jake. I’m, yeah, sorry… y-you…”

“Golly, this must be so, so awkward! Um, I’ll show you the rubric, you must’ve forgotten to get up and get one.”

And then she leans down before him with her brunette hair dripping over her shoulders like honey. Past her tattoo choker, the collar of her shirt drops and he can see her lacy white bra. Does she even mean to show him all this, or is he just a pervert?

Either way, Jacob’s gone mute again. His face is beet red and his heart is pounding. Robyn’s voice is lost beneath the orchestra of blood surging in his ears. Fuck. Oh, fuck. He… he has to do something, she’s going to think he’s crazy if he doesn’t. W-well, what would the difference be? She’ll think he’s crazy by the end of the day. Her eyes are up there, dumbass! He just can’t take his gaze off the careful white threads dancing over the most sacred part of her chest…

He wants to touch. So. Badly.

This cannot be real, he thinks to himself. But it is. And he’s likely gonna fuck it up.

“...and here, it says credit will only be given if all sources are cited using parenthetical citation a-and, I’m sure you know what that is! I’m just not the best at it a-and…”

“C-could… you… g-get me a, a rubric? R-R-Ro… Rob… R-R…”

She flashes him an innocent smile.

“Robyn!”

Shit! Her braces get him right in the dick. With every passing moment, fuck, he gets closer, and closer to… Jacob grits his teeth, trying to steel himself. This is so humiliating, he has to cool off. Jacob hates himself, he hates himself, he hates himself! She’s talking to him, like a normal person, this is just a really good fantasy. He can’t take it.

He’s gotta be dreaming— h-how else could a Veronica like her be talking to a beta like him?!

He can’t imagine how red his face must be right now. Mother of fucking god… He can feel the sweat pooling under his arms and down his back. She’s already trotted down to the professor, a-and he’s shocked that she didn’t noticed the, err, abnormal tent that’s formed between his legs. Please, please, please don’t make him stand. He’ll be fine as long as he’s able to stay sea—

“Ms. Iezzi, I believe Mr. Kitchen is a functional and capable man who can get a rubric on his own. He shouldn’t make a lady do it for him. Right, Mr. Kitchen?”

“Motherfucker!”

And thank God the hall went silent after that one. But, like usual… all eyes on him.

The magnifying glasses were back. He feels little red dots all over him: scopes and targets from machinated rifles eager to take shots at the weak baby deer in headlights. Mother of God and fuck.

Professor Silas couldn’t be doing this to him. Jacob’s hipster jeans are too tight for these fucking shenanigans! Why does Silas have to be a petty cunt on such an awful day?! Has this professor ever heard of a break?

“I don’t have all day, Mr. Kitchen… do you really want to keep your partner waiting?” The professor continued to shame him from the other side of the lecture hall. “You’re certainly off the mark today, son.”

Gee, you think? No wonder you’re a college professor, Silas, ‘cuz you’re such a fucking genius!

Jacob’s frantic eyes manage to lock onto the slim and doll-like figure of Ms. Iezzi… Italian. He likes it… He knows her full name— Robyn Iezzi— will now be the punctuation mark for many of his future wet dreams— wait! He shouldn’t be thinking like this at such a vulnerable time. Getting his rubric and freeing Robyn from this circumstance should be his top priority.

He reassures himself as he finds his legs shakily hoisting himself to a full five feet and five inches. Discomfort gripped his posture as the other five inches knock on his downstairs door. His hands move over his crotch in a semi-formal fashion as if he’s taking a middle school yearbook picture. It’s probably doing him no favors. All eyes still on him.

Squeak… Squeak… Squeak…

Jacob begins his second walk of shame of the day a bit too early for his liking— in a perfect world, he’d have two per day: the one here and the one back to his dorm. It was a bit more like a waddle, though, since… you know…

Damn… This hurts.

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

The fanfare of his still-flooded footwear is perfect for keeping the class’s attention. But Jacob will be an optimist! Every squeaky limp down the ramp to the stage of the auditorium is one step closer to getting this shit over with and his beautiful fleshqueen Robyn.

Squeak.

...Squeak.

Now at the legs of the limitlessly towering professor, Silas gazes down at him with an expression obscured by opaque glasses lenses. Jacob doesn’t need to see under them to know it’s a face of God’s judgment.

“P-Professor…” Jacob starts with shame in his voice.

“Iezzi, please hand him the rubric.”

Wait, what?

The sound of paper crinkling rings in Jacob’s ears, and then all is silent.

Jacob… feels something. It’s on his hand, and it’s… warm. He feels a papercut too, but it’s not too serious right now. What exactly happened there a moment ago?

Hold on a minute.

So, Silas tells Robyn to hand over the rubric. R-Robyn then… reaches for his hands to put the paper in them, and…

Oh.

He looks down to see what this foreign contact is sourcing from.

Oh…

Uh… oh god…

This female’s thin, pink fingers with the jet black nails against… his dirty and sweaty and sinful hands… motherfucker… he can’t take it anymore. There isn’t much else at all that Jacob could possibly want in his world right now. This moment marks the first time in, well, his whole life where a female’s ever willingly touched h-him.

And… it feels so good.

It’s so good, it’s so real. It isn’t a fantasy anymore. She really wants him. She wants to have sex with Jacob… she’s madly in lust with him. There are no more eyes on him, there is no more squeaking of socks and Converse, there is no more auditorium, there’s no more rubric, and there’s no more Professor Silas.

Only Jacob towering a foot above the petite, prim mistress of his dreams with his manhood awaiting her delicate, female touch.

Professor Silas stares down at the young man with a deep, deep look of shock and disgust. Robyn is catatonic at the sight before her. The student body stands with a variety of reactions to the show before them. A couple jaws are dropped, a few eyes are covered, but at least four cameras are being held up to the auditorium stage.

Jacob’s knees buckle. His eyes roll back. He’s had a lot of bad days, but for even for him this is a new low… He was right about one thing though: it really can always get worse.

…R-Robyn…

Oh, R-R-Rrrobyn…!

He twitches, jolts, and stammers her name as he creams his pants in front of the whole class.

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