Page 112 of My Roommate from Hell
Or maybe not. But it’s close.
“Well, listen,” he says. “I’ll lay my cards on the table. You’re a hot guy and a great kisser, and I have no problems with casual hookups. I think we can hook up and it won’t impact me emotionally, and it won’t interfere with our agreement. So if you want to make out again, I’m down. But I’m most likely leaving at the end of the semester, so we have to keep it casual.”
Oh.
“Ball’s totally in your court,” he continues. “I’m happy with whatever.”
I mean, it’s good that he’s honest. But there’s a part of me that feels like I’ve been gutted. It just confirms what I’ve been thinking: these crush-like feelings need to be destroyed. We could hook up again, but we will never move past that. Which is fine. Good, even. It makes sense.
If it weren’t for these feelings, maybe we could just hook up. But they’re real, and as much as I want them gone, I don’t have that level of control. This morning they’ve been more intense than they’veever been, and it’s obviously because we kissed. If we keep hooking up they’ll just get worse, and when he leaves I’ll be more devastated than I’m sure I’ll already be.
“I thought you were going to ask your parents if you could stay?” I ask, a desperate part of me clinging to that hope.
“I am,” he says. “But I feel like if I was allowed to stay, they would’ve told me by now. I’m sure I’ll visit Earth a lot, but Hell is my home. Besides, they’ve never been huge fans of letting me do what I want.”
I think it over.
“So what do you want to do?” he asks.
“I think we should go back to being platonic,” I say. “I don’t want to make things too complicated.”
“Easy.”
He turns around in his chair and returns his attention to his computer. I was right, he isn’t working on one of his papers or anything college related. He’s playing a game, a cozy farming simulator that Ashley has sunk hundreds of hours into. It’s so cute it makes my heart swell.
Being friends is better.
It is.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
In all the time I spent dreaming of college, I never thought I would have this particular problem: What do you wear to go to dinner with the king and queen of Hell?
Zarmenus doesn’t seem to be worried at all, which would give me some comfort if he stressed about anything. We’re in our room, and I’m fretting while he scrolls on his phone. He’s wearing as simple an outfit as he usually does, not even bothering with a button-down shirt. Or to style his hair. Quite frankly I’m not even sure he’s had a shower today.
“Hey,” says Zarmenus, looking up from his screen. “You’ll be fine, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Is that true, though?
“You’re not worried?” I ask. “If they find out we’re lying it’d be bad, right?”
“Oh, it’d be catastrophic. But it’s fine, I know I’m not going to screw it up, and I trust you. Although I am nervous about asking them if I can stay here next semester.”
“Why is that?”
“I guess I care more about staying here than I thought I would. I’m scared they’re not going to let me.”
I’ve been thinking a lot about this as well. If he stays, would wekeep faking? The deal was always to end our relationship at the end of the semester, but things can change.
What if he wants to stay here because of me? It might be a ridiculous idea, but I can’t help entertaining it. If he stays, there’s a chance we could become actual boyfriends.
Do I really want to date the prince of Hell, with all that entails? Do I want to have this huge spotlight on me for the rest of my life? This fake-dating plan has been fun, sure, but that’s because I’ve always known it has an expiration date. I’m sure in a few years nobody will really care about the guy Zarmenus briefly dated in college. He’s so famous I might get some lingering attention, but it’ll be nothing like it’d be if I stay with him, and I don’t want to be famous. Rich, yes. But I saw a quote online once that said fame is the mask that eats the face, so the prospect has never appealed.
I pick another shirt and show it to him. “What do you think of this one?”
He glances up for a second, then returns his focus to his phone.
“Love it.”
