Roommate Face Slapping Short Stories & Novels

My roommate, Megan Williams, stole the thesis I had spent 187 days writing and revising through twenty-seven drafts for my grad school recommendation. She put her own name on it and submitted it to the college, taking my recommendation spot and deleting every original file from my computer. When I confronted her, she dropped to the floor and started crying. She said I had no right to slander her when I failed to get recommended for grad school. Then she posted a long message in the class group chat, claiming I had plagiarized and had a messy private life. Hundreds of messages flooded in, all of them scolding me. I went to the student counselor. He simply sighed and said, "You're classmates. Let it go." Megan became emboldened after that. She stole the materials I prepared for the competition and ripped up my application form. She smiled as she said, "No matter how hard you try, it won't matter." I stared at her without saying a word. What she did not know was that I had left the model and drafts on my desk on purpose. She took them as expected. Three days later, she pranced through the dorm with the first prize certificate from the university's Outstanding Achievement Awards. "Nelly, look. This is what real talent looks like." I only smiled and said nothing. Because that first prize would be what landed her on the disciplinary list.

Even though it has become customary for all the heirs of wealthy families to study abroad, my father has specifically chosen a local university for me, saying that he would miss me far too much if I left the country. He also donates a new building to the school so that I would not be mistreated by anyone on campus. The semester soon begins. Not wanting my roommates at the dorm to be intimidated by the economic disparity between us, I decide to dress more simply. But when I arrive at the dorm room, I see that someone else is using the bed I chose. My bedding and belongings now lie scattered all across the floor. Just as I'm about to speak, the young woman proclaims, "I want this bed. You can use a different one. Oh, and I bought a handbag for all of my female classmates, so you can take one as compensation." "But I arrived before you and chose that bed already," I say with a smile. All she does is look me over and scoff derisively. "Who cares if you arrived first and chose it? Since I want it, it's mine now. My dad is Calvin Stuart, the chairman of Lumina Corporation! If I want something, no one in this city dares to protest!" Lumina Corporation? Isn't that the company that reached out to my father this morning to ask for an investment?

I'm the ultimate soft touch. My dirt-poor roommate used to survive by digging through trash cans for food. Pity got the better of me, so I covered his tuition, his living expenses, and slipped him fifty dollars a day out of my own pocket. My only condition: he had to tag along whenever I went to my private tutoring sessions. I thought he was grateful for it. Then, junior year, he strutted into the classroom head to toe in designer labels and hurled fifty coins in my face in front of the whole class. "Fifty a day, and you treated me like your personal slave for three years—dragged me along to sit through lectures I couldn't even follow, humiliated me every step of the way! "Well, guess what? My real father just tracked me down. He's a billionaire, and he handed me a black card with no spending limit. Here's your fifty back. I'm done being your errand boy. "And I'll never turn into some arrogant jerk just because I've got a little money—unlike you!" Then he handed out luxury bags to everyone in the class except me. The whole room fell for it instantly, chanting, "Long live Elmer!" I stared at the forty-three purchase notifications that had just popped up on my phone and went quiet. I checked again. My black card—the one my father had given me—was gone. Everything clicked into place. The rich long-lost father? All fake. He'd simply stolen my black card, played dress-up as a billionaire's son, and stomped on me on his way up. Without a word, I made one phone call. And transferred the black card into his name. He'd clearly watched too many soap operas—he thought a black card was some kind of savings account. He had no idea it was just a credit card with a higher limit, and every cent he spent on it, he'd owe back.

My roommate, Jessica Miller, kept a pet dog in our college dormitory. Out of consideration for everyone else, I bought her a crate and told her that letting the dog roam freely would frighten the other residents. She lashed out at me. "Chloe, how selfish can you be? Would you like it if I locked you in a metal cage? I've had him for years. He doesn't hurt people, so stop worrying over nothing." During a dorm inspection, her dog suddenly lunged at the dorm supervisor. I desperately pulled the dog away, but the supervisor was still left covered in wounds. The incident went viral online, yet Jessica claimed that I was the dog's owner. My other roommates were threatened into silence, while the dorm supervisor's son flew into a rage and beat me to death. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day Jessica brought her dog back to the dorm. This time, I completely repurposed the metal crate as a storage shelf. "I bought this to decorate my desk. Don't get the wrong idea. It's not for your dog!"

We were biking up a steep climb when my roommate, Susan Edelman, caught up to me, panting hard. "Jeannine, this bike is wearing me out. Let's switch." I squeezed the brakes and was about to answer when an unfamiliar woman's voice came through my earbuds. "Jeannine, whatever you do, don't switch with her! "She borrowed that bike from the campus kingpin, and it's worth over 1.4 million dollars. She crashed yesterday and cracked the frame. A new frame and parts alone will run 420,000 dollars. "She wants to switch so she can pin it on you!" I frowned. Why would a financial-aid student like her borrow such an expensive bike? Then the voice came again. "In a minute, your boyfriend will come over and force you to switch, saying you need to keep up with the group. "Once you've switched, he'll back Susan up and swear you were the one who broke the bike." I was so mad it actually made me laugh. Why would my boyfriend help Susan? This had to be some prank show. Just then, I heard the familiar voice of my boyfriend, Benny Reid, "Why haven't you two switched yet? The main group's way ahead. We won't be able to catch up. "Jeannine, hurry up and switch with Susan so we can go after them." Sure enough, my boyfriend had shown up, with the exact same reason for the switch. Startled, I put my foot back down on the pedal I'd just let go of. If they wanted me to take the fall, they should have done their homework. There was a reason my last name was Chandler, and so was the campus kingpin's: Nick Chandler.

Right before graduation, our Resident Advisor (RA), Jasper Hollister, posts a message in the group chat announcing a hygiene inspection in two days. At the same time, he sets up a pool and demands 200 dollars from each of us to hire a professional cleaner. I immediately ask, "How on earth does a cleaning service cost 800 dollars for a tiny four-person dorm room?" Jasper instantly gets defensive and snaps, "If we get held back from graduating because of you, are you gonna take the blame?" Not wanting any drama, I just pay up and spend the next two days quietly grinding out my thesis at the library. On inspection day, I get a furious phone call from our Residence Hall Director, Deborah Campbell, screaming at me to get back to the room immediately. I push the door open to find the other three beds are spotless. Meanwhile, my bed and desk are buried under a mountain of takeout containers and trash that reeks to high heaven.

To win votes for the school's annual honors award, my stingy roommate picked rotten fruit out of the trash and made it into fruit cups for our classmates. The moment I found out, I rushed to stop them from eating it. Instead, they accused me of being jealous and tore into me for trying to ruin their chances. That very night, they were rushed to the hospital with severe food poisoning. Afterward, my roommate framed me, claiming I had deliberately poisoned the fruit because I did not want her to win the school honors award. She even hid a bottle of pesticide in my locker and convinced our other two roommates to lie for her. With no way to prove my innocence, I became the target of furious parents. In the end, they hacked me to death. My roommate, meanwhile, became an internet celebrity by publicly trashing me and made a fortune from the attention. Now, when I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day my roommate had picked those rotten fruits out of the trash to make her fruit cups.

Sawyer Lund is my brother, and I've been his wingman since we were kids. Growing up, my absolute favorite thing to do was serving him—bringing him his drinks, getting his food, even lighting his cigarettes. I do it happily and never complain. When Sawyer gets accepted into Javon University, I waste no time skipping grades and following him there. On the first day of the semester, Sawyer walks into our dorm room with eight bodyguards. Our roommates greet him enthusiastically while I busy myself cleaning up his desk. Harvey Warren is the only roommate who mocks me pointedly for it. "You're not Sawyer's roommate," he says. "You're clearly his lackey." I just smile and stay silent. One day, Sawyer carelessly tosses his newly purchased Patek Philippe to me and says, "The colorway suits your style better. You should wear it instead." Harvey happens to walk past the door just as I accept the watch with a smile. Over the weekend, with Sawyer away on a business trip abroad, Harvey and I are the only ones left in the dorm. "Do you know what everyone in class calls you behind your back, Felix?" he says. "Sawyer's lapdog." The next day, Ruby Sutton, the campus belle who happens to be my girlfriend, tells me to meet her out on the field. She furrows her brow deeply the moment she sees me. "Do you have to be this pathetic, Felix? How could you throw away your dignity and become someone's lapdog just for a watch? Harvey's family isn't well-off, but even he lives with more dignity than you do." She pauses, then delivers another crushing blow. "Harvey takes the top spot in our major yet again in this term's finals. What do you have to show for yourself? You spend all your time acting as a glorified goon while your grades sit at rock bottom. Do you not feel ashamed, Felix?" Harvey tugs gently at her sleeve and lowers his head. "Please stop arguing with him, Ruby. You know how much I dislike this kind of thing." Ruby's expression immediately softens. I watch her rub his shoulder and smirk. Has nobody noticed that Sawyer and I have the same last name—Lund?

The day my scholarship money was deposited, I was about to transfer it to cover my grandmother’s hospital bills. Then, I suddenly heard a voice. [The Transfer System says that as long as someone eats or drinks something I give them, I can secretly transfer their money to myself without them ever knowing.] [Perfect. Claire just received her scholarship money, so I’ll use her to test it.] [If the transfer works, I can use the money to buy that dress I’ve been wanting.] The voice clearly belonged to my roommate, Mia Parker. Confused, I was about to turn around to confirm it when a bottle of water was suddenly placed on my desk. Mia smiled warmly and said, “Claire, thanks for picking up my package yesterday. Have some water.” The next second, her excited thoughts rang out again. [Drink it. Go on, drink it. Once you finish this bottle, your money will be mine!] I stared at the anticipation and greed she could barely hide in her eyes, and anger surged through me. She knew perfectly well that this scholarship money was my grandmother’s lifeline. I calmly picked up the bottle. "So, you want to transfer my money? "Fine. "I’ll let you transfer as much as you want."

I saw my college roommate send a voice message into a group chat. I watched his screen as our four other roommates responded. However, there were no notifications on my phone. That was when I realized the five of them had created a group without me. In that group, they complained about me being a dumb rich kid, cursed my mom for being a homewrecker, and secretly took nude photographs of me. They were even planning to drug me and give me to a older rich woman for her entertainment. I covered all their meals, drinks, and living expenses, yet they dared to betray me? Fine. I would show them the true rage of a trust fund kid!

First day of school, and my roommate Sharon hits me with a $50k guilt trip over some "limited-edition" suitcase. "You're blind or just too dumb to walk straight?" My boyfriend? Useless. Classmates? Total sheep. The dean? Clown. Then I really looked at Sharon. Wait a sec—wasn't she the same scholarship case my family covered?

My roommate, Andrew Hayes, has become obsessed with this viral tiramisu place off campus. Every night without fail, he brings a box of it back. He tries to sell us on it more than once. Supposedly the texture is silky and rich, and it melts in the mouth. I just can't be bothered to care. Everything changes on the day before the grad school recommendation list is posted. My pen is moving across the page of a paper when something at the edge of my vision suddenly catches my eye. A few lines of text have appeared. [Tonight, your roommate, Andrew, will ask you to help him buy tiramisu from that viral dessert shop. After he eats it, he'll rush out of the dorm. The next day, the police will take you away on charges of aggravated assault. [Online exposés will say you attacked your roommate out of jealousy, and the Internet will explode with outrage. Relentless cyberbullying will consume your life. Even your parents will get dragged down with you and lose their steady jobs. Ultimately, you'll be driven into a mental breakdown and die from depression.] I figure I've started hallucinating after finally cracking under the pressure, so I toss the workbook aside. That night, Andrew pushes open the dorm room door. His tone is easy and familiar as he asks, "Luke, grab me a tiramisu on your way back, okay?" My brain blanks for a second. This scene matches the prediction word for word. Andrew's smile is bright and sunny as he walks closer, but I only feel a chill down my spine because of one of the prediction's sentences. [After you're taken in for questioning, you'll miss your interview. The guaranteed grad school spot will fall right into Andrew's lap.] Is Andrew really going to ruin my entire life over a single guaranteed grad school slot? My grip tightens around my pen. I say, "Sorry, Andrew. It's not really convenient for me."

My best friend called me sobbing at two in the morning, saying she owed three hundred thousand dollars in online loans and was begging me to save her life. I told her I'd help cover half. She grabbed my phone and transferred all three hundred thousand. "It's just money—why are you being so stingy? You make six figures. Helping me out shouldn't be a big deal." I swallowed it. A month later, she posted Maldives vacation photos on Instagram. When I asked when she planned to pay me back, she replied—right there in the comments, where every mutual friend could see— "God, stop nagging. Maybe spend that energy making more money instead, you cheapskate. So annoying." I screenshotted everything. Then I opened the civil complaint I'd already drafted. This kind of best friend? We could catch up in court.

Right before graduation, my roommate waved around a job offer from some overseas company. It had a three-day workweek, with a starting salary of $50,000 a month. It sounded too good to be true, so I warned her it might be a scam. When she struck out on other job leads, I asked my dad to get her a position at his company. She scoffed at the eight-hour days and $6,000 monthly salary, calling it slave labor. Then she went live online, falsely accusing my dad of inappropriate advances and pressuring her to bear him a son. When skeptics questioned her, she swore no woman would lie about her honor. The internet erupted, branding my dad a predator. Our company collapsed under the backlash, leaving us drowning in debt. To spare me, my dad jumped from a rooftop to his death. Devastated, I wandered into traffic and was struck by a truck. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day Amber got that shady offer.

My roommate, Nathan White, says he practices extreme mindfulness and can't kill any living creatures. On the very first day of college, he grabs my electric mosquito swatter and stops me. "Mosquitoes are living creatures too. How can you kill them?" That night, he opens every window in our dorm, saying he wants to leave the door open for any little lives that have lost their way. I get bitten so badly that I develop a high fever and an allergic reaction. My eyelids swell so much that I can barely open my eyes. When I put up a mosquito net, he tears it down with tears in his eyes. "How can you be so selfish? If you cover yourself up, what's going to happen to them?" In my previous life, those words marked the beginning of my condemnation by everyone in my dorm, my entire class, and even the campus confession page. They say I'm cold-blooded and that Nathan is simply too kindhearted and criticize me for being unable to tolerate just a few mosquitoes. In the end, my high fever leads to an infection, and I go into anaphylactic shock and end up in the ICU. Meanwhile, Nathan faces the camera with an aggrieved expression and claims that my hostility is what provoked the mosquitoes to attack me. When I open my eyes again, I'm back on the first day of college. Nathan is holding down my electric mosquito swatter and looking at me expectantly. "You won't hurt them, right?" I pick up my phone and head straight to the office of the faculty member in charge. "Ms. Zimmer, I'd like to apply for permission to live off campus." Whoever wants to turn the dorm into a wildlife sanctuary can do as they please. I want no part in it.