Reborn to Expose My Fake Depressed Roommate

Dressed in a flowing white sundress, Alexandria Clarke looked around the dorm room with a timid, fragile expression.

"I was bullied in high school because I was pretty, and it left me with severe depression," she said softly. "My therapist says I'm a highly sensitive person, so I sometimes overthink things. I just hope you guys can be patient with me."

"Alexandria, don't be scared," Becky Layne immediately reassured her. "We're family now."

Christine Paine, the unofficial leader of our dorm, nodded enthusiastically.

"Exactly! We've all come from different states, and it's fate that brought us together. If anyone tries to bully you, they'll have to get through us first."

I leaned against the doorframe without saying a word.

In my previous life, I'd fallen for Alexandria's act, too. I'd treated her like a genuine friend and bent over backward to accommodate her.

Whenever she spiraled into negativity in the middle of the night, I'd stay up talking her through it until three in the morning.

Whenever she complained about being left out, I'd accompany her everywhere. I'd bring her meals from the dining hall, save her seats in lecture halls, and like and leave comforting comments on every one of her Instagram posts.

I genuinely thought I was helping someone who was ill. It took me far too long to realize that some people simply had no conscience.

At the freshman orientation mixer, Alexandria burst into hysterical tears, accused me of bullying her and tearing her dress to shreds.

She posted pictures of her slashed wrists all over social media, blowing up the entire campus.

Reddit, X, and our freshman GroupMe were flooded with posts attacking me. I tried to defend myself until my voice went hoarse, but no one believed a word I said.

The dean of students forced me to withdraw from school. My parents called to demand that I admit my wrongdoing and stop bringing shame to the family.

I was expelled, torn apart by online abuse, and condemned by everyone around me.

Eventually, I developed real depression. It wasn't until the day I swallowed that entire bottle of sleeping pills that I stumbled across the Reddit thread.

That was when I learned the truth: Alexandria had never been depressed at all.

Her so-called sensitivity was just another weapon. The scar on her wrist was nothing more than a prop in her performance. And I was the scapegoat she'd chosen to climb her way to the top.

She'd built her success on the ruins of my life, becoming an influencer with a million followers before marrying into a wealthy family.

...

I squeezed my eyes shut, overwhelmed by the pain of my past life.

When I opened them again, I heard my own voice coming from my mouth. "You say you have depression. Do you have an actual diagnosis or a note from your doctor?"

Alexandria's fragile expression stiffened instantly. She quickly lowered her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "I do. I just left it at home. I didn't bring it to campus. Do you... not believe me?"

Christine frowned and shot me a disapproving look.

"Maggie, what is that supposed to mean?" she snapped. "She's already upset, and you're deliberately bringing up her trauma."

"Seriously?" Becky chimed in, glaring at me. "Who would joke about something as serious as depression?"

"Exactly," Christine echoed. "No one should use mental illness as a way to make a point."

I simply reached into my pocket and tapped my phone screen. The voice recorder had been running the entire time.

"I never said I didn't believe you," I replied coolly, keeping my eyes on Alexandria.

"I'm just saying that if you're ill, you should seek professional treatment. You can't expect the entire dorm to revolve around you."

"Never mind." She wiped her tears. "I'm just being too sensitive again. I'll try harder not to be a burden to everyone."

"Hey, don't say that." Christine quickly handed her a box of tissues. "Nobody thinks you're a burden."

"Yeah, just ignore her," Becky joined in. "She doesn't think before she speaks."

Watching the same disgusting scene unfold all over again, I couldn't help laughing. Then I picked up my duffel bag and tossed it onto the empty bed.

"Let's get one thing straight right now," I said evenly. "I'm a straightforward person. If you really have depression, I suggest you request a room transfer.

"Because if you stay in a room with me, I'm afraid you'll end up with a lot more to worry about than your so-called sensitivity."