Beating My Catfisher At His Game

The screen of my phone flickered to life, casting a cold, blue glow across my darkened dorm room. It was a message from her.

Babe, Im so down right now. Youre the only one who truly understands me. Can we talk?

I stared at the words, my heart hammering against my ribsnot with the fluttering excitement of a lover, but with the cold, hard rhythm of a survivor. I tapped out a response: Of course.

No one would have guessed that three months from now, this "sweet" digital romance would be the thing that dragged me into a bottomless abyss.

In my past life, the day the prestigious Ivy-Track Fellowship list was posted, our departments group chat didn't explode with congratulations. It exploded with screenshots.

Tylermy roommate, the man I shared a cramped twelve-by-twelve space withhad posted everything. Every late-night confession, every vulnerable secret, every "babe" and "sweetheart." It turned out the person who had been checking in on me, the "girl" who had become my emotional crutch, was just Tyler using a burner account.

The mockery from my peers had been a tidal wave.

He acts all high and mighty in class, but look at himhes just a desperate loser.

I cant wait to hold you? God, thats pathetic. Doesnt he have any self-respect?

In that life, I had walked into our room only to find Tyler holding up his phone, a cruel smirk plastered on his face. Oh, hey, Babe. Youre finally back.

Why? my voice had trembled. Why would you do this?

He had just shrugged, utterly indifferent to the life he was ruining. It was fun. I wanted everyone to see what the Ice King of the Honors College looks like when hes begging for a little attention.

When he saw the look on my face, he rolled his eyes. Don't act so holier-than-thou. Youre the one who said all that cheesy shit. If youre embarrassed, maybe you shouldn't have been such a simp.

Then, another screenshot hit the group chat. It was something Id said in a moment of extreme weakness: I think Im starting to depend on you too much. I dont know what Id do without you.

Tylers caption underneath it read: He was practically crying when he typed this. I was in the top bunk laughing so hard I nearly choked.

From that day on, I was a pariah. The "Lapdog" of Northwood University. The humiliation triggered a spiral of clinical depression. When Tyler found out, he just laughed. Depressed? Why dont you just get it over with and jump then?

And eventually, I did.

But then I opened my eyes. I was back. Three months before the fellowship announcement. Three months before the end.

This time, I had a head start.

Babe, its so good to have you.

The light from the screen made my eyes ache. I looked at the chat window, my mind a whirlwind of static and sharpened glass.

In my previous life, I had just finished a grueling research project. "She"claiming to be a student from a rival universityhad added me. She was kind, attentive, and occasionally played the victim to get me to care for her. I started staying up until 2:00 AM to talk to her. I became dependent.

She always knew exactly what I was thinking. She always appeared right when I was at my lowest. She called it "soul-connection."

I realized now it was just proximity. Tyler was in the bunk above me; he saw every sigh, every tear, every exhausted slump of my shoulders. Every secret I told "her" was a weapon he was carefully sharpening. He was waiting for the fellowship announcementthe moment of my greatest triumphto slit my throat with them.

I sent a few non-committal replies. It didnt take long for him to show his hand.

Babe, can you do me a huge favor?

Im trying to organize this massive pile of research data for my thesis. Its too much; Im drowning.

Youre so brilliant... could you help me out? Just this once?

I stared at the screen, my fingers hovering over the keys.

What kind of data?

He replied instantly with a zip file. Just these. No rush, take your time.

I didn't even need to open it to know what it was. It was a tedious, high-level taskliterature reviews, data cross-referencing, statistical modeling. In my last life, I didn't just do this for him; I wrote him a second, polished report just to be "sweet."

Later, when I was at my lowest, he told me that that specific report was what got him into the good graces of Charlotte, a wealthy socialite whose father sat on the university board. They were engaged within the semester.

You know, he had mocked me then, your writing was actually decent. She loved it. She bought me dinner and called me a genius. Thanks for the leg up, Babe.

I stared at the screen now, a cold smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

Sure. Ill help you.

A string of exclamation points followed. Youre the best, Babe!

I put the phone down, turned on my desk lamp, and opened my laptop. I pulled the sources, I checked the references, and I meticulously organized the data.

At 1:30 AM, I saved the file and sent it.

He replied immediately. Thanks! Youre a lifesaver!

Get some sleep, dont work too hard.

I sent back a smiling emoji.

In my last life, doing this made me feel like I was building a future with someone who loved me. In this life, it just made me feel nauseous.

The next morning, Tyler was up early. He showered, put on a crisp new shirt, and strapped on a flashy watch hed clearly gone into debt for. He carried himself with a new, arrogant swagger. Before he left, he gave me a condescending look.

Half an hour later, the dorm room door slammed open.

Tyler stormed in, his face flushed with rage. He looked like a rabid dog, his eyes fixed on me with pure venom.

I expected him to blow up right then and there, but he just slammed his bag onto his chair and started typing furiously on his phone.

My phone buzzed incessantly. I took my time picking it up.

Did you do that on purpose?!

I played the confused lover. What happened, Babe?

The data you gave me! It was all wrong! It was a mess! Do you have any idea how much of a fool I looked like today?!

I let a faint smile touch my lips before typing a frantic apology.

Im so sorry. I must have been so tired... the pressure lately has been getting to me. Are you mad? Please dont be mad.

Babe? Why aren't you answering?

Maybe we aren't right for each other... Im so sorry. Maybe we should just end this.

I set the phone down. It didn't take three seconds for the notification to pop up. I waited five minutes, letting him sweat. He was desperate now; he couldn't lose his "ghostwriter" yet.

Im not mad. I was just stressed. I shouldn't have snapped at you.

You should rest. I shouldn't have pressured you.

This was just really important to me, and I trust you more than anyone. Were perfect together, right? Let's not talk about breaking up.

I watched his expression shift from fury to calculated manipulation. Of course, I replied.

He sent another message: Since you messed up, dont you think you owe me a little something to make it up to me?

My eyes narrowed. What kind of compensation?

He sent a smirking emoji. I want to see a shirtless photo. You know, show off those gym gains youre always talking about.

I froze for a second. In the last life, he only ever asked for selfiesnever anything like this. I had clearly bruised his ego more than I realized.

I opened an AI image generator on my laptop. Within seconds, I had a perfectly rendered, headless shot of a torso that looked vaguely like mine, but better. I sent it over.

Babe, youre hot!

I knew you weren't as innocent as you look.

I sat on my bed, watching him sit at his desk, staring at his phone and smirking. Suddenly, he looked up and met my eyes. There was a glimmer in his gazethe look of a man who thought hed just secured the ultimate blackmail.

A few days later, a package arrived for me.

Babe, I bought you a suit! he messaged. It was in a box with a high-end designer logo.

Your departments 30th Anniversary Gala is coming up, right? Youre the star student, youre giving a speech. You need to look the part. Ive seen all the guys talking about this brand. If other guys have it, my boyfriend should too.

In my previous life, I had been so moved I nearly cried. That brand was thousands of dollars. How long had a student like Tyler saved for that? I wore it to the gala, feeling like the luckiest man alive.

The mockery started before I even reached the stage. By midnight, the campus forums were ablaze. Star Student Wears Fake Couture. The "designer" suit was a cheap knockoff, and I was the laughingstock of the elite university circle.

When I got back to the dorm, Tyler had led the charge. Wearing a fake to a black-tie event? How embarrassing can you get?

The whole floor laughed. They called me a social climber, a fraud. I was so humiliated I couldn't leave my room for a week. When I confronted "her" via text, "she" turned it on me: Are you accusing me? Im just a girl, I dont know about brands! I just wanted to do something nice for you, and youre being so ungrateful!

This time, I replied: Thank you, Babe. I love it.

The night of the gala arrived. I stepped onto the stage under the burning spotlights. The auditorium was packed. Tyler was in the front row, his eyes fixed on me like a hawk. He was waiting for the first whisper of "fake," waiting for the forums to explode, waiting for my public execution.

But as the minutes ticked by, nothing happened. No one pointed. No one laughed.

Finally, he couldn't help himself. He leaned over to the people next to him, his voice just loud enough to carry. Hey, does Emmetts suit look a bit... off to you? Like a knockoff?

He stood up slightly. The cut is weird, right? And the color? No student can afford a ten-thousand-dollar suit. Its got to be a fake.

Murmurs started to ripple through the crowd. People pulled out their phones.

During the intermission, Tyler and a few of his cronies blocked my path. Emmett, whered you get the threads? Amazon? Looks like a two-hundred-dollar special.

They roared with laughter.

I calmly pulled out my phone and sent a message to "her."

Babe, everyone is saying the suit you gave me is a fake. My roommates are laughing at me.

He replied instantly: Dont listen to them! Theyre just jealous! Its real! Dont you trust me?!

I looked at him standing right in front of me, staring at his phone, playing his part with Oscar-worthy dedication.

Back in the hall, the Q&A session began. A guy in the back raised his hand. Emmett, theres a rumor going around that youre wearing a counterfeit suit tonight. Is your academic integrity as fake as your clothes?

The room went dead silent. Tyler and his friends were wearing shit-eating grins.

I stood on the stage, unhurried. I turned around, letting the back of the jacket catch the light, revealing the gold-threaded logo.

Who told you it was a fake?

Tyler stood up, his chin tilted back defiantly. Oh, come on, Emmett. Just admit it. Why be so stubborn? That suit costs more than a semesters tuition. How could a scholarship student afford it? Youve always been a poser, but this is a new low.

In my last life, those words would have made me want to vanish into the floorboards. In this life, they were just pathetic.

Tyler thought he knew me. He thought because I lived simply, I was poor. He didnt know that my family was actually quite well-offI just preferred to earn my own way.

The moment that "designer" package had arrived, Id called my mother in London. The suit I was currently wearing was the real deal, overnighted and tailored.

I stepped closer to the edge of the stage, pointing to the discreet, authentic stitching. I think anyone who actually knows this brand can see the craftsmanship. Its limited edition.

A girl in the second row gasped. Hes right! Thats the seasonal runway piece! I saw it in Vogue!

Wait, what kind of family does he come from?

I smiled graciously into the camera. My mother knew how important this night was to me, so she had this sent over. I wanted to represent Northwood with the respect it deserves.

The applause was thunderous. The university deans were nodding in approval. Tylers friends looked at each other, their faces turning a shade of sour crimson. Our faculty advisor, Professor Higgins, shot a look of pure disgust at Tyler.

Mr. Vance, accusing a fellow student of fraud without proof is a serious violation. Youll be writing a formal apology and losing two credit points for conduct!

Tylers eyes welled with crocodile tears. Professor, I didn't know! I was just repeating what I heard!

Back at the dorm, I messaged "her."

Babe, the suit you gave me was a fake. My roommates were right.

There was a long pause before the reply came.

Really? I had no idea! Im just a girl, I dont understand these things! I just wanted to do something nice for you. You dont blame me, do you?

I smiled and typed: Of course not. But I think I should call the police. You were scammed out of a lot of money. We cant let them get away with this.

He replied instantly: No! No need! Forget about it!

I pushed harder. No, we have to. Someone stole your savings. Ill go to the station tomorrow.

He snapped. I said forget it! Why are you being so pushy? If youre mad at me, just say it!

A barrage of angry texts followed, and thensilence. The silent treatment.

A few days later, realizing I wasn't chasing after him, he "crawled" back with an apology, some overpriced coffee, and pastries. He acted as if nothing had happened.

Babe, could you help me with my final credits? There are only a few modules left and Im falling behind.

I agreed. But halfway through the online testing, I "lost" my connection.

Why did it stop? he messaged.

Wi-Fis down.

What? The deadline is in ten minutes!

Guess youll have to finish it yourself.

The next day, he was livid, claiming Id caused him to fail.

I replied: So sorry, Babe. My phone died.

A week later, he asked for help with his thesis paper. I opened an AI bot, fed it the prompt, and told it to write a logically incoherent, data-skewed mess. He didn't even read it before submitting.

The result was predictable. His advisor tore him to shreds.

He messaged me, shaking with rage: I thought you were a straight-A student! How could you mess up something so simple? You did this on purpose!

I typed slowly: Babe, it hurts my heart that youd think that of me.

He didn't reply. But through the gap in the bed curtains, I could see him kicking his desk chair in a silent tantrum.

That afternoon, I saw three different people delivering flowers to the dorm for him. He strutted downstairs to collect them, noticing me standing by the entrance.

See this? he sneered, clutching the bouquets. This is what it looks like to be loved. Has anyone ever sent you flowers, you lonely loser?

He marched upstairs. I did a little digging. It turned out Tyler wasn't just catfishing me. He was "dating" three other girls online simultaneously, milking them for gifts and attention.

This was getting interesting.

The day the fellowship results were finalized was also the day the final grades came out. In my last life, because Id tutored him and done his work, our grades were neck-and-neck. In this life, I had obliterated him. I was ranked first. He was at the bottom of the list.

The Dean announced my fellowship. In my last life, Tyler had stood up immediately to protest, claiming our grades were too similar and causing a delay that nearly cost me everything. And then, hed leaked the chats.

This time, his grades were so low he shouldn't have had a leg to stand on. But he still stood up. He pointed a trembling finger at me.

Why him?! he screamed. How can someone with such a disgusting moral character be given this fellowship!

The Dean frowned. Mr. Vance, do you have evidence? This is a grave accusation.

Tyler smirked. Oh, I have plenty.

He hit 'send' on a file hed prepared for the campus-wide group chat.

The room erupted.