The Simpsons: Bart

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***

- I don't know who Bart Jojo Simpson is! - I blurted out the first thing that popped into my head after Isabella's cover-up.

- ...Bart, you realise I didn't know your middle name until now. - Isabella said with lowered eyebrows in a cold voice that sounded a little disappointed, like a mother coming from a parent-teacher conference.

Who would have thought that an honours student who jumped the class would be so smart that she could call my bluff!

- So? Any other options? - Isabella raised her left eyebrow without changing her voice.

- Umm... Exactly! Bart Simpson was very popular! I've heard of him! And I look like him because I'm a fan!

- Haa. - Isabella put her hands on her face. - God, what a cringe. To think you have fans...?

- Hey! - aren't bullies supposed to change after high school? So why does Isabella keep picking on me...?

Chapter 45: The mystery of El Barto's identity solved.

- So you're not gonna talk?

- No.

- You're not gonna take off your mask either?

- No.

- I'll look up your story on the search engine, okay?

- No. - the first time I looked at Isabella since she revealed my identity.

For some unknown reason, but her gaze didn't change. She didn't look at me with the disgust she should have. Didn't try to hide her body to protect herself. Instead of hurriedly packing her things and running away as quickly as possible, she sat quietly in place, as if waiting for the fried eggs and bacon that-

- Holy shit! - made me jump up from my chair, for I'd almost forgotten about them. A couple of seconds doesn't count. Just like a little bit of burn doesn't count. It's just a very heavy crust, that's all.

- So you don't know that you're no longer considered a criminal, do you?

- ...?! - Ouch. - Isabella, you don't have to tell me plot twists of this magnitude while I'm cooking! - I shouted at Isabella, turning to her with a stabbed finger.

.....

- Salad? I didn't expect it.

When you lose weight, you often eat them to fill the space in your stomach. And you drink litres of warm water.

- I see you've started looking after yourself again.

Isabella's comment made me cover my nipples. Only now I realised I was walking in front of her without a T-shirt.

- Did you see that?

- Huh? I wouldn't have thought you'd-

- Did you see that?!

The thought of my classmate seeing me in the ring made me want to grab my head. I didn't do any moves, did I? I didn't raise anything weird in the ring, did I?!

- Haa... You've become so dependent on other people's opinions?! This whole situation must have really changed you. A lot.

- N-no, I'm a wrestler, and presenting myself is part of my job. - I didn't want to bring it up, so I dropped my shyness and explained everything.

We ate in silence, Isabella apparently realised that I didn't want to go back to discussing the past, no matter what news she had.

I don't care. My past life, I don't care. Now I'm El Barto, an aspiring wrestler. And Bart Simpson is in the past, deceased somewhere due to his stupid life decisions.

- Can we talk more? - Isabella asked me at the door.

- ...Bye. - I smiled through my mask and closed the door behind her.

When I was alone, I was finally able to take off my somewhat sweaty mask, and fell onto the bed with a resounding sigh. After which I burrowed into the duvet, which smelled of Isabella's body.....

- I need to have sex...

Which affected me with a stimulant, so I had to throw it off and just curl up, hugging the pillow with one arm and my head with the other.

'Rapist.'

'I wish you were dead!'

'You're a disgrace to the country!'

Sadly, it didn't help much from the voices inside my head.

.....

Instead of going out to celebrate winning the chaos ring like I originally thought, I decided to spend my time at home.

Really even so, the only thing I wanted to do was climb the wall. TV and youtubes couldn't get me hooked on anything. Porn was exhausted after the second time. I even decided to clean up, but....

- Fourteen squares be damned. - I did it in about 40 minutes, tops.

Anyway, what I did was flick through the TV channels again, and again, and again, and again, and again, lingering for maybe five or ten seconds.

I tried push-ups, but somehow that didn't get my head out of the depression. Neither did pull-ups. Neither did abs. Neither did the plank.

- Maybe we should go for a run.

I have this urge to go out. I have this urge to go out and I don't know. Go to the cinema! To a cafe! Just sit in the park! But...

Whenever I look at the door, the only desire I have is to see if it's locked.

- Ahhhh. Pathetic, Bart. Pathetic. - and self-motivational speeches and slaps on the cheek don't help much.

I decided to make something for dinner, breakfast, lunch, any meal. But the fridge was almost empty. I should go to the shops, I suppose?

- I won a ring yesterday, though, so...?

Instead of going to the shop, I decided I'd order something delivered as a reward.

- And here you and I are all alone again. - so I'm alone with my longing all over again.

- Are you talking to me?!

- No, Miss Vasquez! - In addition to being 14 square metres, my flat has pretty thin walls. Except for the toilet. Thank God, because I would have been evicted yesterday because of Isabella.

Speaking of my former classmate. She left her number, or hotel number, on the fridge door.

What did she say? That I'm no longer called a criminal? Something like that.

I could Google my name and see what's going on. But that's like going to an insult generator site. And while I'm not so soft that the words of randoms can hurt me. There are still certain words that can and.... I'd rather not read them. Not yet, anyway.

Therefore, I am left to speculate as to what Isabella meant.

Maybe because of the lack of evidence, and the number of stories of proven false accusations, I've suddenly had a change of heart?

Maybe.

Maybe Sherry was overwhelmed with guilt and confessed to lying about everything. Well, almost everything.

Maybe.

Maybe Isabella wasn't talking about Sherry's accusations at all. Maybe my stuff with the substances came to light.

Then the fact is, I am the culprit.

- What if?

What if I've been dragged back into the Quimby relative's death? If the media got wind of it, they wouldn't just leave me alone. And considering how faithfully they covered the Sherry story....

- Ay caramba.

I'm what? Am I considered a murderer in my home country?

Am I what? Am I considered a murderer by my family? Homer? Marge? Lisa? And Maggie?

- If they think I'm a rapist, they think I'm a rapist. They must think I'm capable of murder, too. Don't they?

Although according to Isabella, they don't think I'm a murderer any more, do they?

But does it matter if they did? Why would I want a relationship with people who are willing to believe any accusation against me? Why do I need to worry about the opinions of those who think I'm rotten?

- I have enough of myself...

Deciding not to think any further, I just went back to bed. Yes snuggled my nose into the Isabella-scented blanket, trying to distract myself, or at the very least, fall asleep.

.....

- Whoo! Haaah!...

Early in the morning, somewhere around half past five, I went out for a run. It wasn't without its challenges, but I was able to overcome both my feeling ill due to over-sleeping and my nervousness.

- Hoo! Haa!

Although when I met rare people, I still quickened my pace and lowered my head.

- Haaah. That's a good start.

After a five kilometre run, I felt good. Even my mood had lifted.

- Need to concentrate on the good things... I got out of the house I have a normal job. I have an abnormal job that I enjoy. I'm not addicted to drugs.

The latter is especially good. Because it's not hard to find illegal substances in Mexico.

- Hey, Bart! Want a joint?!

- No, thank you, Miss Vasquez!

Very easy.

.....

By going to the shop. Got about a week's worth of groceries. This evening, I picked up the phone to order sushi or prime rib, but instead.

- This is Bart Simpson. I'm looking for Isabella Gutierrez. - I'm looking for Isabella Gutierrez.

- Ah! Bart?!

- Becky?!

On the other end of the line, however, a new surprise awaited me. My sister's friend Becky Shorter.