Page 6 of Dear Roomie
Two…
One…
Breathe.
I repeat the process, but it does nothing to calm the raging beast inside me. My body functions on autopilot as I cross the threshold into the Jack and Jill bathroom and ensure both doors are locked. White-knuckling the countertop’s edge, I stare into the mirror. The girl who stares back with wild green eyes looks like a feral animal caught in a hunter’s snare. I don’t recognize her; the woman struggling for air while she clings to the counter is an impostor wearing my skin.
I start my count again, but it’s apparent that it isn’t enough to leash the panic. With shaking hands, I reach for one of the drawers and dig out my emergency medication.
“Goddamnit, James, pull yourself together,” I hiss at my reflection and swallow back the tiny white pills. “You are going to shower, call your dad, make dinner, and act like a civil human being. It’s only temporary. Dad will fix everything, and you won’t ever have to think about Morgan Hall again.”
I push away from the counter and turn the shower on to the hottest setting. After waiting a few moments, I step under the scalding spray. The water singes my skin, and the pain centers me, giving me something to focus on while I wait for my meds to kick in.
Feeling more composed, I turn the water off and head back to my room. I start to throw on my normal house clothes—an oversized T-shirt and athletic shorts—but think about Morgan and his stupid outfit and pause. Who wears business casual to move, anyway?
Fuck him.
I won’t let him or his pretentious judgment dictate how I live in my own home. That’s the lie I tell myself, at least, but I tuck the clothes back into my drawers and opt for a pair of jeans and a nicer tank top instead.
I check the time and grab my phone to call my dad. It’s six hours later where he is stationed, and it’s already pushing the “too late to call” point for the night.
“Hello.” The familiar drawl of his voice comes through the line after a few rings. Hearing it is a balm, soothing all my worries. He sounds groggy; normally,I would feel guilty about calling him this late and waking him up, but any guilt is overshadowed by relief.
“Hi, Dad.” My voice cracks as my emotions threaten to spill out.
“Ophelia, what’s wrong? Are you all right,” he asks, sounding more awake.
“I’m fine,” I lie, which earns me a disapproving hum. I’ve never been able to hide anything from him.
“Okay, I’m not fine,” I amend with a sigh. “I met my new roommate today, and there is a pretty big problem.”
“What kind of problem?” His voice takes on a protective edge.
“Morgan is actually a man.” I drop the bomb and brace for my father’s reaction.
“Okay, and?” he questions without a trace of the validating anger I hoped to hear.
“I am a woman who will be living alone with a guy she doesn’t even know. It isn’t safe.”
“All right, if this is an issue for you, I can call the leasing office tomorrow and break your lease. It will probably be difficult to find somewhere else for you on this short notice, but I’m sure we can find something.”
“No, I’m not moving. I want him out of my apartment.” The idea that I would be the one to move is outlandish. I was here first. I’ve lived here for three years, and I’m not about to move because some asshole didn’t tell me he had a penis.
“Is his name on the lease?” His voice carries the same tone that has always meant I’m not getting what I want.
“Yes,” I admit with a pout he can’t see.
“Has he done anything to violate the terms of the lease?”
“No, but—”
“There are no buts,” he interrupts me, using his drill-sergeant tone. “You are out of luck, kid. This boy signed a lease and is legally in his rights to live in that apartment. The way I see it, you’ve got two options here: move out or suck it upand try to make the best of the situation. If you genuinely feel unsafe, I will get you out of there tonight. We can get you a hotel room, and you won’t have to see him again. It’s your call here, kid. I’ll support you in whatever you choose, but forcibly removing a paying tenant isn’t on the table. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” I grumble.
“Good. Do you feel like you are in any danger?”
I think about it for a moment before begrudgingly admitting, “No.”
