Page 89 of My Roommate from Hell
I stare down at my slushie. I wasn’t expecting to be confronted this bluntly, and I don’t know what to say in response.
“What is it, huh? Is he paying you? Is this some kind of PR stunt?”
“No,” I say. “He just likes me.”
The look he gives me shatters my heart into a million pieces. Like it’s an obvious fact that could never, ever happen.
“Dude, come on,” he says, scooting closer. “I already know you’re lying. Just tell me the truth.”
“Excuse me,” I say.
One of the many vital life skills I learned from Ashley is that I don’t have to stay in a situation where I feel uncomfortable just to be polite. She’s reminded me a few times that I don’t owe anyone my time or attention, and if they make me feel bad, I’m allowed to simply walk away. I get up from the chair and go back inside. The look he gave me flashes before my eyes.
It felt like the cold hard truth. It’s obvious to him that Zarmenus and I aren’t a real couple, not because I said something wrong or acted the wrong way. It’s because we are a couple that fundamentally doesn’t make sense. I’m not good or interesting or rich enough for him.
Inside, Zarmenus is still talking to the group from before. I think about joining, but I feel vulnerable and exposed.
I go past them. As I walk past the kitchen, I crash into someone who was leaving. Their drink, which smells like vodka and soda, spills over my shirt.
Great, when I thought tonight couldn’t get worse.
“I’m so sorry,” says the guy I ran into.
“No,” I say. “I ran into you, it’s my fault.”
“Do you want a towel?” he asks.
“I’m good, thanks.”
I go down the hall until I reach the bathroom. I walk in and close the door behind me, and survey the damage. It’s bad. The front of my shirt is soaking wet and clinging to my skin. I’m not even wearing an undershirt, so I can’t really get changed. The shirt is truly saturated, and I don’t really feel like going out there shirtless.
This is a disaster. A genuine, epic misfire.
And I need my best friend.
I pull my phone out of my pocket, and scroll through my contacts with shaking hands until I find Ashley’s name.
My finger hovers above the call button for a moment. Do I want her to know about this? It’s humiliating.
I tap on her name, and the phone starts to ring. As much as I feel unsure about telling her the reality of this party, I still need to speak to her. She always knows the right thing to say, and always makes me feel better.
The call connects. “Hey!” she says. “You’re up late.”
“I’m at a party and it sucks and I need help.”
“Okay, slow down. What’s going on?”
“I went to a party with Zarmenus and a guy was a dick to me.”
“How so?”
“He implied he knows Zarmenus and I aren’t really dating because of me. He made it seem like I’m obviously not good enough for him.”
“What a dick.”
“I know.”
“I would’ve started throwing fists,” she says.
