Chapter 3

The washing machine was filled with shattered tableware, the ceramic shards piling together at the base. No wonder the machine was beeping nonstop.

All along, I thought Stuart was just clueless when it came to basic life skills. But now, I was beginning to wonder if he might actually have some kind of intellectual disability.

Meanwhile, upon hearing my question, Stuart started to act all hurt and blamed everything else but himself for the situation.

"If a washing machine can wash clothes, why can't it wash dishes? There's nothing on it that says it's not allowed. The plates were so dirty and greasy. I didn't want to touch them with my own hands. Who knew they'd be so fragile anyway? I can't believe they broke so easily.

"It's fine. This doesn't scare me. I'm a brave and responsible guy!"

I couldn't even think of something to say. While I wasn't sure if Stuart had any ounce of bravery in him, I was certain he would soon be expected to fork out another sum in compensation again.

"This washing machine is unusable now. Find a repairman yourself and see if it can be fixed," I said.

Stuart's expression fell at once. Scowling, he protested, "Why should I? It's the washing machine that has a problem anyway. It's too old, and it ruined all my tableware. I'm already being nice by not demanding that Mr. Ferguson compensate me for my plates!"

Seeing that I didn't react at all, Stuart frantically grabbed my hand, his eyes red and pleading. "You have to be my witness, Benson. This wasn't my fault!"

After hearing something so shameless, I felt compelled to study Stuart carefully, as if I suspected that he was actually a robot masquerading as a human.

"I'm genuinely curious to know how you even managed to stay alive for this long. If you think it's the washing machine that is to blame for this, you can tell Mr. Ferguson. However, I'm not obligated to act as your so-called witness. Figure it out yourself."

Just as I was about to turn away, Stuart ranted, "How can you be so heartless? We're housemates! Why aren't you willing to help me at all?

"You have a washing machine in your bedroom, don't you? Just bring it out so that we can use it together. And once the lease is over, you can leave it behind for Mr. Ferguson. It's too heavy for you to take with you anyway."

He started making his way toward my bedroom, but I pushed him away.

"Don't cross the line, Stuart. How are you entitled to use my washing machine? We're not that close. Stop flattering yourself."

Before going back to my room, I caught the resentful look in Stuart's eyes. It put me on guard, and I began locking my door every time I went in or out.

But the very next day, just as I got home, I still saw something that made me lose my mind.

Stuart had hired a locksmith, who was in the middle of dismantling the lock on my door. Upon seeing that half the lock had already been taken out, I immediately shouted, "What are you doing to my room? Who gave you permission to unlock the door?"

Stuart didn't take me seriously at all. He even slung an arm over my shoulder without a care in the world and said, "Why are you shouting your head off, Benson? I needed to use the washing machine, but I couldn't get in because you locked the door. So, I had no choice but to hire someone to open it."

The locksmith clearly realized he'd involved himself in a messy situation. He stopped what he was doing, but the oblivious Stuart got impatient and started urging him.

"Why aren't you getting on with it, mister? Hurry up and get the lock open. The forecast says it's going to rain tomorrow. I have to do my laundry and hang the clothes out to dry today."

"Stuart Harper!" I snapped icily. "I'll say this one last time. This is my room. If you try to force your way in again, I'll call the police immediately. When that happens, don't say I didn't warn you."

Stuart froze in shock when he saw how merciless I was being. A moment later, he scoffed and stormed off in a huff.

I rubbed my forehead. Stuart was nothing but trouble. I had to find a new place to live as soon as I could.

After telling my professor I'd be taking a few days off from school, I went to a real estate agent and started looking for similar apartments. After my experience with Stuart, I gave up entirely on the idea of sharing a place with someone.

I was still deliberating over which place to move to when I opened the door and spotted a familiar electric slow cooker in Stuart's hands.