Chuck was so lonely. He had been lonely for days. Sure, you could easily say that he had been lonely since the day that the plane crashed and he realized that he was alone on the island. But this was a new kind of lonely. The kind of lonliness that only a man can feel when he hasn't seen another woman in... how long was it? Too long. So long he had nearly forgotten the way another warm, writhing body felt beside his. So long he had nearly forgotten the feeling of hot, hot woman-flesh and it's hot, hot way of feeling so womanlike, so fleshy, during love-making. He looked at his ball. His sad, lonely ball. And then he looked at Wilson. "Wilson..." Chuck said, the lonliness in his voice. Wilson just stared at him. Watching his every move. That was how it went. Chuck, staring. Wilson, staring. Both of them staring at each other. At the same time. Staring. Finally Chuck couldn't take it any more. He threw up his hands. "I can't take this anymore, Wilson!" He exclaimed. "I'm so desperate for love! I'm so desperate for the feeling of..." and then he trailed off. What was the feeling he was so desperate for? Not even Chuck knew anymore. He had forgotten. His mind told him that it was something warm. Something... squishy. Something like a jellyfish. "A jellyfish!" He shouted, excited at the revelation. Sure, they were stingy and not altogether friendly, but it would be worth it. Anything to stop the lonliness that he felt down in his... heart. But then he looked at Wilson. He couldn't do that to Wilson. After all they had been through together, he couldn't be sexual with someone else, it would break Wilson's heart. Chuck fell asleep that night, alone, and uncertain of what to do. Wilson slept on the other side of the fire, as if somehow, the little volleyball knew what was going through Chuck's mind. The infidelity. The shame. Wilson felt like he just couldn't measure up to Chuck's animalistic needs. They both slept uneasily and woke up covered in tears. The next morning Wilson awoke to see Chuck standing over him, holding the rollerskate. "What the fuck?" Wilson would have said, if only he could. "I'M SORRY!" Chuck screamed as he brought the rollerskate crashing down, making everything turn so, so dark. When Wilson came to, he felt strange inside. He was no longer full of air, he was deflated a little. But there was something, inside of him, something squishy, moving around, sliding and swimming. Then there was Chuck, standing there, holding Wilson and looking at him contemplatively. "What's happening to me?" Wilson would have said, if only he could. "I'm sorry Wilson," Chuck said, reading his best friend's thoughts, "I filled you with a jellyfish. I'm sorry, I'm so selfish, I know. But I feel so alone!" And that was the last thing he said, the last cry in the night, before Chuck had his way with the jellyfish-filled Wilson. Wilson had never felt so violated and ashamed. And DeDe, the jellyfish, felt pretty bad, too.