Page 133 of My Roommate from Hell
He heard everything.
PART THREEHURTS LIKE HELL
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
My life might be over, I just don’t know it yet.
Right now, I’m trying my best to enjoy the liminal space before I know if one of the worst things I can imagine has happened. It’s the morning after the party, and I’m in our dorm, still tired from a night of terrible, anxiety-fueled nightmares.
While I’m still here, in bed, my phone charging across the room, I don’t have to know if Tyrell has decided to tell the world about Zarmenus and me being a fake couple.
I’m sure he has already posted something. It would be a huge story, one that would get him worldwide attention. He could set up his entire future with one story. What better way to prove his capabilities as a journalist than by uncovering a huge deception with interdimensional ramifications while still a freshman?
And it’s not like he would feel much loyalty to me as a friend. I saw the look on his face when I left Madison’s room. He was clearly processing a lot, but he also seemed hurt. Which I get. I have lied to him basically the entire time I’ve known him. If I were in his shoes, I’d be devastated. In a lot of ways, him revealing the truth to the world is what I deserve.
I sit up in bed and frown. Our room feels strange. It’s too quiet, as if the energy has been sucked out of the space. I look over the railing to check Zarmenus’s bed, but he’s not there. It’s not that strange, he’soften out of the room by the time I wake up. And yet there’s something different about this, it’s impossible to miss.
It’s not like he’s just left the room for a few hours. It’s like he’s gone.
If his stuff weren’t still here, I’d be worried that he’d already moved out. The empty feeling is that strong.
“Bell?” I ask.
She never normally comes when I call, but I’m hoping she will pick up how much I need comfort right now. Instead, the room remains completely still. Either she’s not here, or she doesn’t want to show her face.
I get out of bed and retrieve my phone. I take a breath, exhale, then pick it up. I do have a few new notifications, but not the avalanche that I was expecting if Tyrell broke the news. The first is a message from Ashley, sent late last night, asking me for my opinion on a pair of shoes she’s planning on buying for Jackson’s birthday. So nothing there. If she saw the news break, I’m sure she would’ve checked in with me.
I go to my internet browser and search for Tyrell. He did post something last night, an article forPoint Press. I quickly read it, and it doesn’t expose Zarmenus and me as liars. Instead, it’s just him meditating on spending an entire semester with Zarmenus, and the lessons he’s learned along the way. I read over it again, making sure.
He didn’t expose us.
I am relieved. I truly am. And yet it still doesn’t sit right with me. A part of it is because there’s the lingering fear that he might just be waiting for the perfect moment. Bigger than that is the hurt from what I did. Because of this, I might’ve lost him as a friend, and the worst part is I’m the bad guy here.
I quickly get dressed, then grab my keys and leave Clark. As I walk to Tyrell’s dorm, I get an idea, so I backtrack in order to go to the coffee shop to order two mango-coconut smoothies, matching our order from our first solo hangout.
“I wish my boyfriend was like you,” says the barista as he hands me the smoothies. “He never brings me drinks.”
I’d almost convinced myself that the news breaking was a forgone conclusion, that it was already over. But the evidence is really piling up that Tyrell didn’t say anything. I am getting a few more double glances, but no more than normal.
But why didn’t Tyrell tell anyone? He would be well within his rights to. I have been a pretty shitty person to him.
I reach his dorm, entering through the front door in a stroke of good timing when a different student was leaving. I ride the elevator to his floor, and stop when I reach his and Avery’s door. This could be a mistake. There’s a good chance he won’t even want to talk to me.
Still, I knock.
A few seconds later, the door swings open. It’s Avery, who’s wearing a fluffy pink dressing gown. He’s done a pretty rough job taking off last night’s makeup, as there are dark mascara smudges around his eyes.
“Oh, hey,” he says. “You okay?”
“Yeah, um, is Tyrell there?”
Avery looks back over his shoulder and shouts. “Tyrell? You have a visitor.”
“Who is it?”
“Some twink.”
Tyrell appears a few moments later.
