Page 18 of Dear Roomie
“I’ll make time.”
His words cut through my heart like a sharpened blade. He couldn’t find the time to come visit me, but somehow, he has all the time in the world to come intimidate my roommate. The fight leaves my body on a sagging breath. What’s the fucking point? He will probably cancel on me again anyway.
“When are you coming?” My voice takes on a dull, hollow tone.
“I’ll be there in two weeks. I have stuff I need to take care of this weekend. His tone is too chipper. He’s either missed my change in attitude or is willfully ignoring it. I’m not sure which is worse.
“Okay, I guess I’ll see you then.” I start to ask about the girls, but he cuts me off before I can get the words out of my mouth.
“I gotta run. I’ll talk to you soon. I love you, O.”
“I love you too,” I try to respond, but the line is already dead.
My head falls back as I let out a groan of frustration. My life has become a steaming pile of shit over the past few days.
“Everything good?” Evelyn asks as I rejoin them at the table.
“Everything is great,” I lie, plastering on my best plastic smile. “Tanner just wanted to iron out the details of his next visit.”
Chelsea gives me a skeptical look but doesn’t push any further. Thankfully, the girls relent as I steer the conversation away from the guys. That doesn’t keep the thoughts of Tanner and Morgan from ripping through my head in a cycloneof rage and confusion, though. I can’t focus on a word that comes out of my friends’ mouths. Not when I can still hear Tanner’s harsh accusations, and every time my mind wanders, I see images of Morgan’s elusive smile and flashes of the sculpted lines of his naked body.
I excuse myself earlier than I normally would, making a bullshit excuse about pre-semester reading when what I really need is to wipe the last forty-eight hours from my memory.
The whole walk home, my fingers dance along my thigh, itching to purge the storm of emotion the only way they know how. The growing ball of tension only lessens once I step foot into my bedroom.
My room is my oasis. It’s the one place I have complete control. Everything is decorated in matching shades of gray and peach, and, more importantly, everything is kept exactly where it belongs—well, almost everything. My art corner, with its easel by the window, is the one blip of utter chaos in my otherwise immaculate space. No matter what I try, I can never get it to fall in line like the rest of my belongings.
I change into ratty clothes and grab my headphones, putting on my most chaotic playlist to match my mood. Muscle memory kicks in as I set my workstation up with a fresh canvas and an array of paints, the familiarity soothing some of my fraying nerves. I don’t think about what I’m going to paint. My hands simply go, moving of their own accord as they take my tangled mess of emotions and make them into something beautiful on the canvas.
I fall into a state of zen while I work, and all my worries temporarily melt away. Something starts to take shape from the swirling swaths of color, and my heart drops into my stomach as I recognize it. Immortalized in thick, messy strokes is Morgan Hall and that heart-stopping fucking smile.
Chapter 8
Morgan
The first week of classes was an absolute shock to my system. I’ve always done well in school, but I don’t think undergrad could have prepared anyone for the realities of the first year of law school. The intense workload has overwhelmed any capacity I had to focus on my situation with James. We haven’t crossed paths since that night at Cutter’s. I haven’t been intentionally avoiding her; I just make sure to leave while she is on her morning run and then study at the library until well into the night.
My absence hasn’t stopped James from letting me know how terrible she thinks I am. She leaves daily Post-it Notes in the bathroom that nitpick my every move. Unsurprisingly, another one is waiting for me on the mirror as I drag myself out of bed and head for the shower.
Great. Let’s see how I displeased the she-devil this time.
I shake my head as I pull it off the mirror and add it to the ever-growing pile in my room. She was the one who wanted us to stay out of each other’s hair, and this feels like the opposite of that. I don’t think I’m a bad roommate; no one has ever complained before. After a week straight, you’d think she’d run out of things to criticize. At this rate, I’ll have a full notepad’s worth by the end of the year.
That night, I stumbled back from Cutter’s drunker than I intended with an inescapable urge to fish that crumpled scrap of paper from the bin. I don’t know why, but I saved it, tucking it away behind the cardboard box that doubles as my bedside table. When I found another note the next morning, it went there too.
I finish getting ready and head to class, and by the time my professor starts quizzing us on the prior day’s reading, all thoughts of my roommate and her notes are pushed to the back of my mind. They don’t make their way back to the forefront until Karis ambushes me as soon as I approach our normal table in the library.
“So what was it this time?” Trying to guess how I messed up this time has become a bit of a game between her and Nathan. “Did you breathe too loud? Did you put the mugs away with the handles facing the wrong direction?”
“No,he did that three days ago. I don’t think she will repeat it again so soon,” Nathan adds.
“He put the mugs in the dishwasher wrong last time, not away.”
“It’s the same thing.” Nathan waves a hand at her dismissively.
“Is not,” she snaps, the look on her face daring him to challenge her again. Her eyes light up with a manic gleam. I’ve only known her a few weeks, but I know that look, and I can say with absolute certainty that she will make him pay for it on the mats later if he does.
Learning that my small group of friends all train in MMA and jiu-jitsu together was an unexpected but welcome surprise. I’ve done various types of martial arts since I was a kid. My parents put me in whatever classes were cheap at the local rec center, and it sort of stuck. I started wrestling in middle school, which eventually led to me receiving an athletics scholarship for my bachelor’s degree. Nathan has been relentless in trying to get me to join them at their gym. As much as I would love to, my classes and the cost make it impossible.
