Page 1 of The Roommate Situation

ONE

RORY

“I’m home!” I call as I close the door to the apartment I share with my boyfriend, and slide off my shoes. I’m feeling especially giddy today since it’s my birthday and he promised that as soon as I got out of my last class we would celebrate. I’m in my third year of college at Colorado Springs University as an illustration major. Zach and I have been dating for almost eight months now, and living together for four, ever since the end of last semester. We spent almost the entire summer together, rather than me going home like I have the past couple of summers. I still saw my family, but it was a much shorter stay this time around because of Zach and I getting settled in our new place.

I run a hand through my unruly brown curls as I make my way down the hall and through the open living room and kitchen area, surprised that he hasn’t come out to greet me when I know he’s home.

“Zach?” I call, as I draw closer to our bedroom. “Baby?” We have a two bedroom apartment near campus, and use one room as the bedroom and the other one for a study room. My parentsare helping with the cost of rent until I graduate and get a full time job. And because they know living in the dorms would be a challenge for me.

I hear loud moaning and cursing coming from the bedroom as I draw closer and frown. Is he jerking himself off right now? I’d assumed we’d be having sex later. Could he not wait? He’s been home for what, an hour?

But as I reach the door I hear the tell tale slap of skin on skin and then a voice that isn’t Zach’s. “Yeah, fuck, harder.”

What the hell? The door is wide open when I reach it, and my stomach bottoms out as my eyes widen and my face flames. My chest tightens and I can’t fucking breathe. He’s fucking another guy on our bed, in broad daylight, and he’s not even trying to hide it.

Shit, I knew we were having problems but I didn’t think he’d do this.

He turns and meets my gaze. I feel a sharp stab of pain when he smirks at me. He’s not horrified he got caught, or ashamed or guilty. He’s not telling me “It’s not what it looks like'' or any of the other lame excuses he could be throwing out there. It’s like he fuckingwantedme to find him with his cock buried in someone else.

“You fucking asshole,” I snarl as tears fill my eyes and I hurry back the way I had come. He doesn’t even bother coming after me as I slide my shoes back on and grab my backpack, heading out the door.

Happy fucking birthday to me.

I have tears still sliding down my cheeks as I sit at the campus coffee shop waiting for my friends Lucy and Jackson to arrive.I’ve been trying to drown my sorrows in a pumpkin spice latte, but apparently that only works as a pick me up when it comes to not doing as well as you would have liked on an exam, or your BFF not being able to hang out with you, but not so well when your boyfriend of eight months cheats on you.

My phone buzzes on the table and I turn it over, expecting it to be Lucy telling me she’s delayed or something, because she always is, but it’s a message from Mr. Asshole himself. And even though I know I should ignore it, at least until Lucy or Jackson gets here to play interference, I swipe and read. Big mistake, because I’m just crying harder and feeling more angry and confused than I was a minute ago when I read it.

Zach: Hey, look I’m sorry you had to see that, but it’s not like you didn’t see it coming.

Me: What the actual hell is that supposed to mean?

Zach: Come on, babe. A guy like you and a guy like me? You can’t seriously expect me to not get some action on the side now and again. Especially when you haven’t been available lately. I have needs.

What the fuck? Is he seriously making this out to be my fault? The fact that I’m actually doubting myself, wondering if I contributed to him cheating on me in some way, that maybe I am to blame, tells me this relationship was so much unhealthier than I realized. Shit. When it occurs to me that this may not be the first time he’s cheated on me, I start to shake. How long has this been going on?

I turn the phone back over without responding and sigh in relief as I see Lucy approaching. There’s music blasting through the speakers, and since the coffee shop is a part of the student center, which also houses a small dining hall, it’s bustling with college students and profs trying to get their caffeine fix, grabbing dinner, chatting, and studying. Fortunately I have my earplugs in and it helps block out some of the noise.

“Hey,” she says as she slides into the seat across from me. She has light brown skin and her black curly hair falls over her shoulders. She doesn’t even have the word out before I’m a sobbing mess again and she’s scooting over to my side of the table to sit next to me, pulling me to her and letting me rest my head on her shoulder as I cry. I don’t care that we’re in a crowded place where anyone could see me losing my shit.

“Hey, talk to me,” she says, rubbing my arm with her hand and shushing me gently. When I finally croak out the words, she moves away, so stunned and clearly pissed off, that I almost fall over without her supporting me.

“Shit,” I mumble, as I catch myself, then wipe more tears from my eyes.

“He did what?” she says, her green eyes stormy. “Hell, no. I’ll go over there and castrate that bastard myself.”

“Um, thanks,” I say, “but I really just want to be here, with you guys right now, if that’s okay. We can castrate later.”

She purses her lips as if considering it, and then nods. She takes me into her arms again and I continue to cry.

“What the hell?” Jackson says as he joins us, sitting in the seat Lucy had previously occupied. He’s tall and very thin with pale skin, and jet black hair. He wears dark eyeliner under his eyes and earrings and rings galore. He has a nose ring, and even a tongue ring. His eyes are a vivid blue and they widen when Lucy speaks.

“Zach is trash.”

“Fuck,” is all he says. Then looks at me. “I’m really sorry, babe.”

I nod and sniffle. “Thank you. I just can’t go back there. I mean, I have to eventually, to get my stuff, but not tonight. Not while he’s there. I have to find a place to stay.”

“You can crash on our couch,” Jackson says, referring to the apartment he shares with two other guys.

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