He's got it coming: Love is the best revenge

by Alexandra Winter

  I can’t kill him now. When the police search for evidence, they’ll find me, ask my friends and family if they knew about my connection to him through a dating app.

  “You’ve ruined everything!” My eyelids grow heavy. I let them block my vision, make my world black.

  5

  As if I’m being thrown around in the center of a storm, my entire body struggles to find a focus point and balance itself. I force my arms down so I don’t smack Cecilia to the floor.

  “I didn’t mean to ruin…”

  “How could you make a profile on Tinder in my name without my consent?”

  There’s no brilliant way out of this. I can’t tell her I was already planning to kill Henrik. That makes her complicit if I find a way to do it after all.

  “I’m sorry. I was desperate. I had to know if Henrik was still pursuing new women. And…I mean…” She places my ruined salad and her glass on the desk. “You’re clearly his type since he texted you so quickly. It was a bad idea.”

  “Bad idea? You think? I could have told you that! Why me? You could have used a fake person, made someone up.”

  Cecilia stands and moves towards me with her arms out as if getting ready to comfort me. “I didn’t think about it that way…”

  I straighten and push her hands away. “I said I’d hack Henrik. I didn’t agree to anything like this. I don’t want to be involved.”

  Cecilia frowns. “I’m sorry. But you told me last night you were moving on.”

  “I’m in mourning for fuck’s sake.” I take a deep breath, desperate to calm myself but it doesn’t work. “Did you go through some vetting process to get an actual license to run a support group, or did you just start one for fun?”

  You’re insane.

  I squat down, grabbing the hair on both sides of my head, eyes fixated on the floor. My voice cracks. “Now you know he’s contacting other women. Delete the profile.”

  “Hear me out.” She takes out a pen and a piece of paper from my printer. “Henrik hurts women every month that, like me, plan a future with him. They fall in love, close their hearts to other men, and put their lives on hold for him.” She draws four stick figure women with a broken heart next to each. “The question is, how can he do this time after time without caring? Besides being an asshole.”

  Hearing her use that word calms me. But it takes all my strength not to tell her she’s an asshole too for doing this. “Why are you asking me?”

  And I don’t care how. I can’t kill Henrik anymore. Now I need another way to avenge what he did to Isac.

  Cecilia hands me her pen. “You know what it’s like to love unconditionally. I’ve seen how losing Isac broke you.”

  Instinctively, I flip the paper over, hiding all the bruised stick figures. “Don’t say his name.”

  She opens her mouth to argue. “I…I won’t. But you can’t heal without talking about him.”

  I whisper through gritted teeth. “My so-called healing is none of your business.”

  Cecilia sighs. “I’m sorry. But I need you in on this. What you’re feeling can help us give this bastard what he deserves. Henrik should go through the same emotions you’re having, making it unbearable for him to hear the name of the woman he loves, just like you can’t bear to hear your husband’s.” She flips the sheet over and draws a male stick figure with a broken heart.

  I stare at the man, then roll my eyes at him, and her. “He wouldn’t act the way he does if he knew how much it hurts.”

  “Right?” Cecilia presses her black pen down harder onto the heart, thickening the lightning bolt splitting it in two.

  “Unless he’s a psychopath,” I say.

  Cecilia lifts the pen. “He’s not. Not a narcissist either.” She gestures to the black screen. “We have full access to how he’s thinking.”

  I click the mouse pad and open his texting app, where Henrik is in the process of writing a woman named Thea. He’s saved her contact under a nickname: Miss Oil.

  Come on, send me something to get me through the night.

  A nude picture of a woman smearing oil on her body flashes in front of us. We both groan and look away.

  I scroll down, bypassing the image, but watching his response to it.

  You are so beautiful.

  Another woman sends him a picture of her butt. He copies and pastes his message proclaiming,

  You are so beautiful.

  “What is wrong with these women?”

  Cecilia waves her arms in the air. “Like you’ve never sent a nude photo.”

  “No, I haven’t. Have you?”

  She shrugs. “Everyone does it. Henrik asked, I felt flattered, so I sent him a few. Don’t look at them, please.”

  “I won’t.”

  She grunts. “I thought we were exclusively flirting, though. Nothing like this.” She looks away until I’ve turned the screen black again. “Not even when you were dating?”

  “Especially not then. It’s like you’re giving away a Christmas present on the first of December without wrapping or an opportunity to see his response when he gets it. Not only that, but you give him free access to study you at any time he wants. You and your body deserve a hundred percent attention when on display. It should be a live show, nothing else. Besides, it could encourage dick pics, and no one likes those.”

  “No.” Cecilia grimaces. “It didn’t help me, that’s for sure. I’m not what he’s looking for. Look how quickly he matched up with and texted you.” She shows me the Tinder chat again where Henrik’s written:

  Hi.

  She holds a chunk of her brown hair next to my blonde. “He’ll love dating you.”

  “Me?” I’m standing, shouting. “You want me…me?…to date this…that…asshole?”

  Cecilia nods.

  “Are you insane?” The photo of Isac’s car and the sight of his hand are etched in my mind. “I’m married.”

  “You’re a widow.”

  “Thanks to Henrik—”

  Cecilia’s eyebrows shoot up. “What does Henrik have to do with you becoming a widow?”

  I can’t explain, so I say nothing.

  She walks over to the window and opens the white curtains. Sunshine radiates around her as she folds her arms over her chest. “That picture from the car crash you had open when I entered this office, was that yours?”

  I want to laugh it off, lie and say that it was mine, but what’s the point? With me blurting out that Henrik caused Isac’s death, she won’t believe me. “It was Henrik’s.”

  “Why would he have a…” She pauses, covering her mouth with her hand as it sinks in. “He was there when it happened.”

  I blink and swallow to keep my emotions in check, pull the image up, then zoom in on Isac’s hand.

  Cecilia takes over the mouse pad and zooms out, showing the entire car again. “But why would he take a picture of a dead man in a car?”

  She asks the question to the screen, not to me, but I answer it anyway.

  “Trophy.”

  “You’re suggesting Henrik was involved?” Cecilia’s voice is harsh, as if in denial. “There’s got to be some other explanation. Henrik couldn’t…” She trails off, mumbling to herself as if remembering she’s just discovered he’s cheating on her with several women. “No wonder you won’t date him.” Cecilia closes the photo. Her voice is determined, serious. “I want revenge for his cheating on me and turning me into an idiot for trusting him. You want to avenge Isac.”

  I nod, and sit back down. “But there are better ways.” I hold the USB stick in front of her. She looks at me as if I’m holding a popsicle which she can’t make sense of.

  How do I explain this?

  “Every computer has a unique MAC and IP address like how we have fingerprints. If we touch something, we leave our prints. If I use my computer, I leave my computer’s fingerprints on every site I visit. Police can therefore trace me. So,” I say, with a flourish like I’m about to perform a magic trick, “with his information beaut
ifully stored on this USB stick, we pretend to be him. Like we cloned his phone, we’ve kind of cloned his computer too. If I hack into a bank, the police will think it was Henrik, not me.”

  Cecilia shifts in her seat, folding her arms over her chest. “Send him to jail for crimes he didn’t commit?”

  “Easily. We could empty his bank accounts, post on social media what an asshole he really is for everyone he cares about to see, rip his life apart, make it look like Henrik is planning to bomb a building in Oslo and have him branded as a terrorist. Or make him digitally dead by removing his social security number.”

  She takes her glass of bubbles, clinking her red nails on it. “Henrik’s bank would shut him out, his driver’s license would be suspended, and he wouldn’t be able to travel, but he’d get it back eventually.”

  “True. And it’s risky hacking the government. No one would believe he’d delete his own information, it wouldn’t make sense, and not many people in Norway, or Europe for that matter, have the skills or patience required. Only about five hackers worldwide could pull that off without getting caught.”

  “You and…?”

  I shrug. “You wouldn’t know them. Root, Wasp, 404, and Whale, off the top of my head.”

  “Whale?”

  “Yeah, he’s extraordinary.”

  Cecilia’s eyebrows raise. “What kind of man would call himself a whale?”

  “It matches his reputation. No one knows who he is, but he could do this in his sleep. Not that it matters. The police would knock on my door pretty fast now that you’ve connected me to Henrik, and to yourself.”

  Cecilia turns toward the blank wall where my diplomas used to hang. “Too bad it’s not illegal to take photos. If it were, we could send the photo Henrik took of the accident to the police.”

  Now that’s a good idea.

  “But then he’d say someone got it illegally,” she continues, “and knowing you’re the victim’s wife, wouldn’t they connect those dots pretty fast and arrest you for hacking?”

  My hope for an easy way out of this vanishes. “And my job would suffer when they learn I’ve broken my ethical pledge.”

  Shit.

  She lifts the bottle, inspecting its contents. “Did I finish this alone?” Not waiting for my response, she heads downstairs, leaving me with my thoughts.

  After two years of dating Henrik, will Cecilia bail and confess to what we’ve done if we send him to jail?

  Cecilia returns with another Cava bottle squeezed under her arm, her face as empty as the bottle left on my desk. “But…I mean…I love the idea of him caged in, but our prisons resemble fancy hostels, and when he gets out, he’ll go back to using women. It’ll cost our society lots of money, and for what? He won’t be any wiser.”

  I sigh. “And you wouldn’t be able to keep quiet about what we did.”

  “I don’t think so, no.” She pours herself more Cava, then gestures to my full glass.

  I take a small solidarity sip. Out of all the dreadful fates I could give Henrik, Cecilia now blocks every option. If something happens to him, she could connect the police to me now, and if they talked to my parents, I’d ruin their lives. They might even try to make it right with Henrik without knowing my reasons. “You won’t send Henrik to jail, but you’ll gladly sacrifice me to the man who killed my husband?”

  “Henrik didn’t kill Isac. It was an accident. He just neglected to call for help.”

  “Inaction makes him responsible,” I say.

  “He’s never been even close to violent with me, and do you think I would ask you to date a killer?”

  “Obviously. You already have.”

  “I wish I could do it myself, but I’ve tried to get him to love me for ages. What a success that was.”

  I scoff. “The definition of sacrifice is to give up one thing for the sake of something else. You’re giving me to Henrik for your revenge.”

  Cecilia shakes her head. “It has to be you.” Desperation colors her voice. “I mean…” She glances around at the floor as if searching for a suitable answer. “You’re not looking for love, so he can’t trick you into falling for him. Right?”

  “So what? I’m close to vomiting just thinking about being in the same room with him.”

  “You checked his phone. He didn’t call an ambulance, but he took the time to take a picture. Don’t you want your revenge too? Let him feel what he’s taken from you?”

  Her words are like whips lashing my heart. My body stiffens.

  Make him want to take his own life because he can’t go on without the person he loves? It’s the ultimate revenge. Drive him to his death like he’s driving me to mine.

  “If I pull this off, I’m cheating on Isac to avenge him. I vowed to stay faithful until death do us part.”

  “Death has.” Cecilia half smiles at me as if sorry to break the news.

  If I can give back to him what I’ve felt the last two years...being stuck knowing I’ll never feel happy again, that this life is a mockery of what we once had together, where every breath I take feels stripped of oxygen, and no matter how deeply I inhale, it’s never enough—like I’m dying of thirst and, when I lift water to my mouth, it evaporates before I can drink it.

  Empty.

  I can’t kill him, but I can make him do it himself.

  The image in my mind of a knife twisting in Henrik’s gut changes. I hold his heart in my hands. “He drove on, never considering that someone loved the man in the car. If he knew love, he could never have done that.”

  He’d know he was killing not just the man in the car, but the woman who loved him too.

  Cecilia stares into the glass she’s gripping, her knuckles white. “I clung on to Henrik, of all people.” She shakes her head. “Why couldn’t I see that he was a player, huh?”

  “I think the wine is kicking in,” I say.

  She refills her glass. “Good. You should date Henrik. Break his heart. You see through his bullshit in a way I never could.”

  “It’s easy to see through a person you hate. I search for flaws, not the good hidden qualities which made you fall.”

  “This is why you need to date Henrik. He’d never know what hit him. Love and hate are similar emotions. Use that. Get him to fall in love with you and then leave him, or cheat, or both. Ruin him. You see what he’s doing to these poor women! To me.”

  I force a smile. “You’re familiar with the definition of a martyr?”

  Cecilia folds her arms over her chest. “A person who endures great suffering on behalf of a belief. Something like that.”

  I nod. If I hurt him now, Cecilia will know it was me. The only option I see is to go along, and perhaps a new opportunity will arise later. My hands are shaking, so I curl my fingers into my palm to control them as I brace myself for what I’m about to say.

  “I’ll date him. Not for you, but to avenge Isac, and for women Henrik might hurt in the future. If I shatter his heart, it’ll be worth the hell I’m about to put myself through.”

  Then I’ll return to my pills and eternal sleep.

  “Yes!” Cecilia rises. “This is wrong in so many ways, but I can’t help getting excited. Too excited. I’m setting you up with a man I’ve tried so hard to get to love me. It’s crazy.”

  “Yes. We need a plan.”

  “I’ll get jealous at some point. We need to plan for that too.”

  I can’t help but smile at her response. “I like your commitment.”

  A rainbow of every variation of rage flushes through me, so I grab my glass of Cava. Although the reasonable part of me wants to fling it at her, I spin my office chair around. “Let’s celebrate.” I need to get my creative juices flowing, not subdued with wrath.

  She lifts her glass to mine. “I’m in. What are we celebrating?”

  That I’m entering hell.

  I want to scream at her, but instead, laugh to ease the tension.

  Cecilia jumps up at my hint of positivity. “To breaking this dirtbag’s heart.
”

  6

  At seven thirty the next morning, the garbage truck wakes me up as it lifts and dumps one plastic dumpster after another into its compactor.

  The Monday I wasn’t supposed to live through.

  I drag myself out of bed and head downstairs. While yesterday was freezing, today warm rays of sun beam through my living room windows. My dead body would stink by now. Having spared Mr. Nerli that experience makes it easier to stomach what I’ve agreed to.

  I retrieve the photo and envelopes from the drawer next to the dining table. I clasp our photo to my chest before giving in and placing it face down on top of the envelopes in a box with Isac’s clothes. I am blocking out my past. I have to, if I am to give myself to someone else.

  “I’m sorry.” My hands rest on the closed lid, and I force myself to let go. “I’m doing this for us both. I love you.”

  Cecilia arrives at precisely eleven fifteen, her tanned legs glistening underneath her shorts. She’s balancing an oozing paper bag of baked goods, along with two takeout coffee cups stuffed into a cardboard tray. “Since you have some food protest going on, I brought a snack.” She blinks at me. “Ready?”

  I take the cups from her, and she follows me into the kitchen. “Don’t you have to work?”

  “This is my work.” She opens the refrigerator, showing me its contents, or lack thereof. “Mhmm. Moving on without food won’t get you far.”

  I want to tell her that neither will forcing herself on people, but bite my tongue. “What plans did you come up with?” I open the lid of a cup of coffee, inhaling its mesmerizing aroma.

  Cecilia holds out a finger signaling number one, which shows off her new coat of dark blue nail polish. “First, he has to kiss you, not the other way around.”

  I frown. “My feelings aside, kissing can be curiosity, boredom, or lust. It doesn’t necessarily mean love.”