In the beginning of February, my Spring semester at Santa Barbara City College began. The classes I registered for were Sociology, Math, Film Studies, and English. My English class was an online class, but the other three were normal classes that I attended at the college. Sociology and math were on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and my film class was on Friday mornings. It made for a convenient setup.
This was the last chance. I had already failed to change my life in the last semester. I must not fail again. I remembered how hard it was to keep up those two classes in the Autumn. The people in them made me feel so miserable. I knew that if the same thing happens in the coming semester, I would end up dropping all of my classes, and if that happened, all of my hope would be doomed.
On the morning of the first day, I donned my fabulous Armani Exchange shirt and put on my new Gucci sunglasses that my mother gave me. I admired myself in the mirror for a few moments, and began to feel a surge of enthusiasm. I wanted everyone to see me looking like that. I was hopeful that some girls would admire me. I said to myself that there was no way I could possibly have trouble with getting girls now. I stopped by at Starbucks to buy a latte and set off for my college with the confidence that I would appear as a superior gentleman to all of the students there. I was a superior gentleman. That was what I was born to be, and it was now time to show it to the world.
It was a bright, sunny day as I as ascended the familiar steps up to the beautiful college campus of SBCC. I immediately went to the restroom to look at myself in the mirror a few times, just so that I can feel more assured of myself. Yes, I thought. I am the image of beauty ad supremacy. I kept saying it over and over again, as if it was a mantra. When I crossed the renowned bridge that connected the two halves of the campus, I felt as if everyone was admiring me. As I passed by groups of girls, I pretended to imagine that they secretly adored and wanted me. After all, that was how it was meant to be. The more I walked around the campus, the more I tried to convince myself that that was the case.
My first class was sociology, and I waited until everyone was seated before I walked in. I came in through the front entrance so that everyone could look at my fabulous self. To my utter dismay, I saw that no one turned their head to look at me at all. No girl tilted a head or lifted a pretty little eyebrow at my approach. After all that effort, I was still being treated like I was invisible.
The sociology class flew by like a breeze, and my next class was math. In this class, I saw one of the prettiest girls I had ever seen in my life. She was the only pretty girl in the class, and she was absolutely stunning. Of course, she didn’t even notice me as I walked in. Her beauty was so intimidating that I couldn’t bring myself to sit near her, out of fear of her judgment. As the lecture proceeded, I couldn’t help myself from constantly glancing at her, admiring every inch of her enticing body, from her silky blonde hair to her smooth, skinny, lightly tanned legs. The most beautiful thing about her was her face.
It was a face that broke my heart the second I laid eyes on it. I wanted her with so much intensity, and I constantly fantasized about her during my masturbation sessions. This was the kind of girl who was always meant to be my girlfriend. This was the girl that I was meant to go through college in Santa Barbara with. My life would only have meaning if I could go through college with a girlfriend like her.
As I made my way back from school one day during the first week, I was stopped at a stoplight in Isla Vista when I saw two hot blonde girls waiting at the bus stop. I was dressed in one of my nice shirts, so I looked at them and smiled. They looked at me, but they didn’t even deign to smile back. They just looked away as if I was a fool. As I drove away I became very infuriated. It was such an insult. This was the way all girls treated me, and I was sick and tired of it. In a rage, I made a U-turn, pulled up to their bus stop and splashed my Starbucks latte all over them. I felt a feeling a spiteful satisfaction as I saw it stain their jeans. I then quickly speeded away before they could catch my license plate number. How dare those girls snub me in such a fashion! How dare they insult me so! I raged to myself repeatedly.
They deserved the punishment I gave them. It was such a pity that my latte wasn’t hot enough to burn them. Those girls deserved to be dumped in boiling water for the crime of not giving me the attention and adoration I so rightfully deserve!
This incident soured my first week of college, but for the sake of all of my hopes and dreams, I tried to forget about it.
For the month of February, I continued with the trend of attending my college classes and trying to make the most of it. With each passing day, my confidence about how I appeared to everyone started to wane. I still didn’t make any friends, and I still didn’t talk to any girls. By the end of the month, I began to question what I was doing so wrong. I saw obnoxious slobs who dressed in basketball shorts and T-shirts walking with hot girls. And there I was, decked out in Armani, all by myself. It was preposterous! I should have been the one walking with the hot girls! I soon realized that no one cared at all about how well I dressed. No girls admired me. No girls even gave me a second look.
I soon found out the name of the beautiful girl in my math class. Her name was Brittany Story. Being the obsessed stalker that I was, I looked her up on Facebook, and what I found shattered my already wounded heart to pieces. She had a boyfriend. Not only that, but her boyfriend was the type of boy I have always hated and despised: a tall, muscular surfer-jock with a buzz cut. As I looked at all the pictures of the two of them together, I shivered with pure hatred. I could physically feel the hatred burn through my entire body. I wanted to kill both of them, and I was capable of doing it. Brittany Story should have been mine, and if can’t have her, no one should! I fantasized about capturing the two of them and stripping the skin off her boyfriend’s flesh while making her watch. Why must my life be so full of torment and hatred? I questioned to the universe with turmoil roiling inside me. I screamed and cried with anguish that day. My housemate Spencer heard it all, but I didn’t care.
I dropped my math class immediately after learning that Brittany had a boyfriend. I couldn’t look at her beauty anymore, knowing that some punk was able to enjoy having sex with her every day. I can only imagine how heavenly that guy’s life must be. He was in heaven and I was in hell. Shortly after dropping my math class, I decided to drop all of my other classes in a rage. There was no point to it anymore. No matter how hard I tried, girls were not attracted to me. What was the point of going through college, getting a degree, and finding some mundane professional job afterwards if I could never experience the pleasure of girls along the way? I didn’t want to torture myself with going to college and looking at all of those beautiful girls I could never have. Nothing beneficial came out of it.
There was no hope for me to ever have a desirable college life. My life was devoid of friends, devoid of girls, devoid of sex, and devoid of love. I realized that I will never be able to look back on my youth, the time that I should be having a blast, and feel satisfied about all of the happy memories I have. There were no happy memories; only misery, loneliness, rejection, and pain. The only thing I could do was even the score. I wanted to make everyone else suffer just as they made me suffer. I wanted revenge.
When I dropped my college classes, I crossed a threshold that I knew existed, but never actually believed I would cross. It completely ended all hope I had of living a desirable life in Santa Barbara. I realized that I would be a virgin forever, condemned to suffer rejection and humiliation at the hands of women because they don’t fancy me, because their sexual attractions are flawed. They are attracted to the wrong type of male. I always mused to myself that I would rather die than suffer such an existence, and I knew that if it came to that, I would exact my revenge upon the world in the most catastrophic way possible. At least then, I could die knowing that I fought back against the injustice that has been dealt to me.
Ever since my life took a very dark turn at the age of seventeen, I often had fantasies of how malevolently s
atisfying it would be to punish all of the popular kids and young couples for the crime of having a better life than me. I dreamed of how sweet it would be to torture or kill every single young couple I saw. However, as I said previously in this story, I never thought I would actually go through with these drastic desires. I had hope inside me that I could one day have a happy life.
It was only when I first moved to Santa Barbara that I started considering the possibility of having to carry out a violent act of revenge, as the final solution to dealing with all of the injustices I’ve had to face at the hands of women and society. I came up with a name for this after I saw all of the good looking young couples walking around my college and in the town of Isla Vista. I named it the Day of Retribution.
It would be a day in which I exact my ultimate retribution and revenge on all of the hedonistic scum who enjoyed lives of pleasure that they don’t deserve. If I can’t have it, I will destroy it. I will destroy all women because I can never have them. I will make them all suffer for rejecting me. I will arm myself with deadly weapons and wage a war against all women and the men they are attracted to. And I will slaughter them like the animals they are. If they won’t accept me among them, then they are my enemies. They showed me no mercy, and in turn I will show them no mercy. The prospect will be so sweet, and justice will ultimately be served. And of course, I would have to die in the act to avoid going to prison.
That is when I realized that this threshold existed, and if I crossed it, I will have to carry out this Day of Retribution. It has remained stagnant in the back of my mind ever since, until this point. After dropping my Spring classes at Santa Barbara City College, I knew that the Day of Retribution was now very possible. I even wrote about it in my diary, but I later tore out the pages because I feared someone might find them. A shiver ran through me, realizing how twisted my world had become, that I would have to resort to doing something that I would consider unthinkable a few years ago. I didn’t want to do it. I wanted to live. Thinking about the Day of Retribution made me feel trapped. I wanted a way out.
After some deep contemplation, I had the revelation that the Day of Retribution wasn’t the only way I could make up for all of the suffering I’ve had to experience. If I could somehow become a multi-millionaire at a young age, then my lifestyle would instantly become better than most people my age. I would be able to get revenge on my enemies just by living above them and lording over them. That was a form of happy, peaceful revenge, and it became my only hope. Once again, I started to desperately ponder over ways that I could become extremely wealthy at a young age. It was my only way out.
This is when I realized that wealth was the only way I could lose my virginity, the only way I could have the beautiful girlfriend I know I deserve. Due to all of my past experiences with girls, it is evident that girls are not attracted to me as a person. They are repulsed by me. The only way I could possible become worthy of their love and attraction is if I become wealthy.
In the beginning of March, I went home in a sullen and disturbed mood. I did my best to hide it from my parents. I also had to hide the fact that I dropped all of my college classes, and I kept up the pretense that I was still attending college, talking to my father about my lectures and so forth.
The weekend that I visited home was quite an eventful one, and I had been looking forward to it for some time. On Sunday, March 11th 2012, I went with my mother and sister to a private, exclusive Katy Perry concert; and on March 12th 2012 I went with my father and Soumaya to the red carpet premiere of the Hunger Games.
The invitation to the private Katy Perry concert was actually meant for Rob Lemelson, as the concert was held for extremely wealthy people who were clients of Net Jets, a private jet company. Rob had no interest in such things, so he gave the tickets to my mother. I was eager to go, because I loved attending exclusive events; it made me feel special. For most of the time spent at the concert, I just walked around at ate food at the buffet tables while everyone waited for Katy Perry to perform. There was upbeat music playing the entire time, and a lot of wealthy families with their kids attended. Every family there must have had a net worth of at least twenty million, to be able to hire private jets. I tried to pretend as if I was part of a wealthy family. I should be. That was the life I was meant to live. I WOULD BE! If only my damnable mother had married into wealth instead of being selfish. If only my failure of a father had made better decisions with his directing career instead wasting his money on that stupid documentary.
I couldn’t help but feel a bitter form of envy at all of the rich kids at the concert. They grew up in lavish mansions, indulged in excessive opulence, and will never have to worry about anything in their pleasurable, hedonistic lives. I would take great pleasure in watching all of those rich families burn alive.
Looking at all of them really drilled in my mind the importance of wealth. Wealth is one of the most important defining factors of self-worth and superiority. I hated and envied all of those kids for being born into wealth, while I had to struggle to find a way to claim wealth for myself. I had to be ruthless, and do whatever it takes to attain such wealth. After all, it was my only hope of ever being worthy of getting a girlfriend and living the life of gratification that I desire.
The red carpet premiere of the Hunger Games was an even more exclusive event. The reason we got in was because my father was friends with the director, Gary Ross. My father even contributed to the film as a second unit director. Gary Ross had been coming over to father’s house for dinner quite frequently in the past few months. When he told me about the Hunger Games, I had never heard about it before, so I decided to read the books that the movie would be based on. It was quite an enjoyable story and I became a fan.
At the same time, my step mother Soumaya was in the process of filming a French reality T.V. series, called Les Vraies Housewives. Her status as a reality T.V. star, coupled with my father’s important association with Gary Ross, enabled us all to attain VIP tickets to the red carpet premiere, including admittance to walk on the red carpet itself, which was actually a black carpet, in a literal sense.
I didn’t own any suits, but I wore my extravagant Hugo Boss shirt, which I thought looked elegant enough to walk on the black carpet. As we were lining up for our walk on the black carpet, some dumb bitch of a security guard had the audacity to question “who the hell are these people”. This made me so enraged that I almost said “we are people who are more important than you, you ugly cunt”, but Soumaya’s publicist calmly informed her of our invitation. We then proceeded to walk across the long black carpet as cameras flashed at us from one side, and a crowd of pathetic fans who reminded me of sheep cheered from the other side. I felt extremely gratified at walking on the black carpet with father and Soumaya, and I cockily smiled at all of the stupid fans who had to remain on the side, rubbing it right in their faces. There were some actors and celebrities on the carpet with us, and the paparazzi yelled at me a few times to get out of the way as they were taking pictures of some cunt actress. I discreetly gave those paparazzi pigs my middle finger. Elliot Rodger will not move aside for a stupid, good-for-nothing, over-glorified actress, whoever the fuck she was. I didn't see.
We walked through all the chaos until we finally reached the theatre where the movie was being screened, called the Nokia Theatre. It was one of the biggest theatres I had ever seen, able to see hundreds of people. At the entrance, father and I greeted Jack Ross, the son of Gary Ross. He was a spoiled brat of a sixteen year old, and to my embarrassment he stood taller than me. I immediately hated him on sight. He was living the life I should be living, if only my father had become as successful a director as Gary Ross. I equally hated his repugnant friends, who ended up sitting in front of me and partially blocking my view for the entire movie. Throughout the whole film, I had to fight the urge not to splash my drink all over the little shitheads in a vehement rage. They spoiled it for me, and it was quite a good movie too.
The movie was entertaining,
but my favorite part of this premiere was the after party. Yes, we were invited to the after party, where only the most important guests could attend. I felt so special as I handed my VIP tickets to the guards outside, gaining admittance. The party was extravagant, with buffet tables set up in every corner serving exquisite delicacies. I excitedly went from plate to plate, helping myself to all of the food. Father and Soumaya went off to socialize with Gary Ross and his entourage of producers. I didn't know anyone there, of course, so I just spent time with my sister Georgia.
A few moments into the party, I ran into an old face. He noticed me first and called out my name, saying "Is your name Elliot?" He was none other than Ashton Maio from Pinecrest Middle School! I hadn't seen him since gth grade. He was now in the process of starting a career in acting, and he had a small part in the movie. I actually read about this beforehand, but I didn't expect I would run into him at the after party. [EDITED] was nowhere to be seen. I suppose the bitch wasn't invited, hah. I remembered all of the pain she caused me during my g•h grade year at Pinecrest. I tried to act as cool and confident as I possibly could with Ashton, though I felt intimidated. He was one of the most popular kids at Pinecrest, and now he was becoming an actor, one of the most attractive careers a man can have. I assumed he had probably slept with countless beautiful girls. Damn him. I had a brief conversation with him before trying to leave his presence as fast as I could. I didn't want him to find out
My Twisted World Page 22
