Roommate Plot Twists Short Stories & Novels

During my senior year of college, I started dating Leo Whitman online. He was the hottest guy on campus. All through winter break, he texted me every day. He kept me company while I took my grandmother to her pre-op appointments. One night, at two in the morning, he even promised that when we got back to Boston, he'd make up for all the hugs we'd missed. Then the new semester started, and we finally met at the student center. The moment Leo saw me, his face fell. He pulled out his phone, showed me a photo, and said there had been a mix-up. He'd added the wrong girl on Instagram. The girl he had a crush on was my roommate, Vivian Blake. Back in December, Leo had spotted Vivian at the school's winter charity gala and snapped a photo of her from the side. He posted it in his fraternity group chat and offered $10,000 to whoever could introduce them. Except his roommate had sent him my Instagram handle by mistake. And just like that, I understood how I'd spent two months in a relationship that had never really been mine. Leo sat by the window without saying a word. After a long silence, he slid a signed check across the table. "We're done here. But I need you to help me win Vivian over. Write in whatever amount you want."

On Christmas Eve, my friend, Lenny Gibson, sends me a text message. "I've rented a Maybach for our cat so that we can go back to our hometown for the holidays. It'll be seven thousand dollars per person. The car is fitted with air conditioning and security cameras. Don't you think this is a good deal?" I glance at my bank app, which has just deducted my monthly house mortgage from my account. "Nah. Bebe isn't a spoiled princess. I can't afford to rent such an expensive car." The next day, I receive a selfie of Lenny hugging Bebe while seated in the Maybach. "It's such a shame that you aren't here, Noah. The Maybach's owner is a hot chick, not to mention she's kind-hearted enough to give me a ride home as well!" On the evening of Christmas, I hear sounds of rapid knocking coming from the front door as soon as I enter the house. Lenny's anxious parents can be seen standing on the doorstep. "Is Lenny here with you? He hasn't come home at all! He told us yesterday that he wanted to prepare a birthday gift for you, so he had us give him 20 thousand dollars!" Before I can recover from my shock, the police come knocking on my door as well. It turns out that I'm the last person Lenny has contacted…

Chloe, the maid I share a room with, is dead. I watched the head housekeeper and another maid pin her to the floor. I watched them as the housekeeper vomited up a slimy, black web of fungus and forced it down Chloe's throat. I should have screamed. I wanted to. But my selective mutism took over, trapping the sound in my throat. It probably saved my life. The next day, Chloe was alive again. She walked into the young miss’s room to brush her hair, just like always. I was so scared I dropped the water basin I was holding. As I stood there, frozen, the young miss leaned in close, her voice a whisper only I could hear. "You've noticed it too, haven't you? They're not themselves anymore."

At five in the evening on the thirtieth of April, I was heading back to my dorm when a disheveled woman in a mask passed me going the other way. Her eyes were sunken. "It's your turn," I thought I heard her say, but her voice was so faint I thought I might have imagined it. A second later, a deafening thump came from nearby. "Ah!" "Someone jumped off a building!" "Someone's dead! Call an ambulance!" The police arrived quickly and sealed off the scene. The girl who had died was Rosa Harris, one of my dorm mates. The police interrogated each of us. All of us had the same impression of her. She was poor, unsociable, withdrawn, and possibly mentally ill. Her death was ruled a suicide before long. The police left, but the campus stayed on lockdown. Everyone was forced to hand over their phones for inspection. Anything about Rosa's suicide was deleted to keep the news from getting out. The lockdown would end at eight in the morning on the first of May, when we could leave for the break. But I never made it off campus. When my alarm rang at six in the morning, I groggily opened my eyes. Suddenly, a large hand clamped over my mouth and nose. I suffocated, dying in agony and despair. When I opened my eyes again, it was five in the evening on the thirtieth of April. A voice spoke in my ear, so faint I could have imagined it. "It's your turn."

I had worshipped my older sister, Sophie Lane, ever since I was little. Growing up, my greatest happiness was serving her drinks, carrying her bags, and picking up her meals. After Sophie was accepted into Central University, I immediately got my SAT and skipped a grade so I could get into the same university. On the day Sophie moved into the university, she entered the dorm room with eight bodyguards. Our roommates call her "The One Queen!" Meanwhile, I was making her bed. Only Viola Lynch gave me a knowing look and teased me. "You aren't her roommate at all, are you? You're clearly her personal maid." I merely smiled without answering. That day, Sophie casually tossed me the new Chanel purse she had bought. "This color suits you. Use it." When I took the purse with a grin, Viola happened to walk past the doorway. The weekend Sophie went abroad on vacation, Viola and I were the only ones left in the dorm. "Eve, do you know what everyone in class calls you behind your back? Sophie's pet." The next day, my boyfriend Aaron Sanders, the campus heartthrob, asked me to meet him at the track field. Viola stood beside him with red eyes. When he saw me, he frowned deeply. "Eve, can you stop being so pathetic? You became someone's pet over a single purse? Viola's family might be poor but even she has more dignity than you." Viola tugged at his sleeve and whispered. "Aaron, don't say that about her. I'm not worth it." I looked at them holding hands and suddenly chuckled. Wait. For real. Had no one noticed that Sophie and I shared the same last name?

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, Natalie Grey, was the most famous pushover class president in the entire management department. When classmates didn't pay their class dues, she covered them out of her own pocket. When people sent her on errands and dumped grunt work on her, she kept her head down and did every bit of it. When someone got written up and pinned the blame on her, she quietly took the fall. I, on the other hand, breathed a sigh of relief and told her to keep it up. Because deep down, Natalie was a little hellion. Emotionally detached and born with a screw loose, she was the kind of person who would actually take a knife to someone in real life. When we were kids, a boy from our town picked on me. Natalie pinned him to the ground and beat him so badly it took three or four grown-ups to drag her off. He ended up in the hospital for three days. Natalie climbed a drainpipe up to his fifth-floor room and yanked out his oxygen tube. He was so scared that his family moved away the very next day. I was terrified she would one day do something she couldn't take back, so I poured everything I had into training her to be sweet and docile. Then Selena Morrison, the department's it-girl, moved into my dorm room. She made me pick up her meals and fetch her packages, but she never paid me a single cent. Every time we split a bill, she made a point of rounding her share down. With no money left for food, I lost thirty-three pounds. When I finally tried to stop picking up her meals, Selena went straight online and posted that I was jealous of her and out to get her. Suddenly, every guy in the school had it out for me. My bike, parked outside the dorm, got smashed to pieces. My food deliveries kept disappearing the moment they arrived. One day, as I stood helplessly over yet another takeout order splattered across the ground, Selena looked at me with a smile. "Come on, be a good girl. Being my servant is an honor..." There was a loud bang. Before Selena could even finish her sentence, she went flying half a mile. I snapped my head up. Natalie was walking toward me, her face dark...

For three years in college, I was basically the dorms’ unpaid tech support. I was always on call, never charging for dust cleaning, thermal paste replacement, and operating system installations. Then senior year started, and Mickey, a freshman, called me out in the dorm group chat. “You know thermal paste only costs a few bucks a tube, right? Yet, he’s seriously charging you guys two cans of energy drinks for the job.” Mickey added smugly. “My family runs a computer store. Come to me instead. I’ll charge you a can for the service, and I can guarantee authentic parts.” The group chat blew up. “The kid’s legit!” “Well, Axis isn't getting any more energy drinks from me.” I read the messages and quietly packed away my tools in the cabinet. They had no idea the thermal paste I used cost nearly forty bucks a tube. The dust cleaning was done with professional-grade equipment. Little did they know, the so-called genuine parts sold on the market were mostly refurbished parts with a fresh coat of paint. I got into bed and pulled a sleep mask over my eyes. Honestly, this couldn’t have come at a more perfect time. I’d been wondering when these days of doing free repairs at my expense would finally end. Well, there's my ticket out.

The last light had just turned off when Hank Liston queued up for his fifth ranked match. He turned on the volume, making sure the game music rocked the entire room. "Jungler!!! What are you doing, sleeping?! We need to jump this guy, you loser!" On the lower bed under me, Ben Singer, who had been holding back for a long while, rasped, "Can't you put your headphones on? I have an interview tomorrow." Hank simply snorted. "Interview? You can sleep the whole day, and you still won't make it in with that rubbish resume of yours. Don't try to blame your failures on me." Ben flushed beet red but didn't argue. Zac Kimmich, our other roommate, had his pillow covering his ears while he gripped the bed post so hard that it was creaking. Hank, however, kept ranting, "We're all in the same room! It's called mutual understanding—get it? I was there with you guys in class, but I can't spend time playing at night? Also, I'm not complaining even though I'm not sleeping, but you guys are sleeping and complaining?!" Suddenly, he turned to me as well. "And you, Carl. Don't try to play dead. You got a lot of money from that scholarship, didn't you? If you're that good, why don't you donate your sleep hours too?" [Roommate disturbance detected. Casting Polymorph. Progress: 1%] Well, since Hank couldn't behave like a proper human being, why not turn him into something else?

My roommates booked a New Year's Eve light show table—five hundred per person—and started urging me in the group chat to transfer the money. I quietly sent a screenshot of my account balance. "You guys go ahead," I wrote. "I haven't even scraped together my tuition yet." They replied with a string of mocking "haha"s. Our dorm leader, Giselle Murdoch, even posted on her social media with the caption: [The first step to crossing class boundaries is distancing yourself from people who kill the mood.] Just after midnight, they sent me a photo from the light show and said, "Too bad you're not here." I frowned, confused, when my counselor's call cut in—her voice tight with urgency. "Did you invite your roommates to the light show? The organizers said they never even checked in! They're missing!"

Gillian Cook, my roommate, asked me to join her group order for a Black Friday online sale. It was a small request, but I turned it down immediately. I knew that if I joined the order, I would end up receiving a pile of unsealed adult toys. In my past life, Gillian tricked me into joining the group order to destroy my mental state and steal my early admission offer slot for grad school. When I went to the campus mailroom to pick up my package, the tissues I'd ordered had somehow been replaced with a pile of unsealed adult toys. Quite a few people got my phone number off the delivery label and messaged me with malicious intentions. I tried to explain that the items weren't mine, but Gillian pulled out the group-order records and said with feigned seriousness, "Those toys are nothing! Hannah's sex drive is through the roof! Having a boyfriend isn't enough for her—she spends the night with several different men every week!" As soon as she said that, I became the target of vicious online abuse. More harassment followed, and my boyfriend, Samuel Hunter, broke up with me. The whole ordeal made me deeply depressed, and I eventually jump from a campus building to end my life. After my death, Gillian successfully got into the grad school I have always wanted to attend through my early admission offer slot. Yet the online harassment continued, targeting my innocent parents too. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back at the moment Gillian tried to trick me into joining the group order.

My roommate, Keith Kavanaugh, calls himself the "Holy Son of Frost". On the very first day we meet, he insists that the air conditioner in our dorm room must stay on until October, and the temperature can never go above 50°F. He claims, "A mystic says I'm the Holy Son of Frost, so I have a rare physique. I can only live in cool environments of 50°F at most." He even starts live-streaming, and his "special condition" instantly attracts a huge following. Meanwhile, I'm sitting right in front of the AC vent, so I'm shivering all over from the cold. I quickly turn the temperature up, but he immediately turns it back down and even locks the remote in his cabinet. "We're all educated college students here. Why are you so selfish?" he questions. Faced with his unreasonable accusation, I hold back my anger and try to reason with him. "We're in the north region. The weather here is cool enough in September. There's no need to set the AC this low. But if you insist, I can switch spots with you…" Keith cuts me off impatiently, "Are you crazy? Who sleeps right in front of the AC vent? What if I get sick from it? No one else has a problem. Why are you the only one making a fuss? Let me warn you—I'll melt from the heat. If you make me uncomfortable during my stay, I'll have you kicked out!" I realize there's no reasoning with him, so I plan to contact the dorm counselor to switch rooms. But Keith beats me to it! He goes to her first, records a video, and even posts it online. He accuses me, a local student, of being selfish and bullying him, someone who is from out of town. Just then, a new post suddenly appears on the campus forum. The poster writes, "My roommates are too wasteful. One guy washes his hair every day, and he even uses running water. He even takes a shower after every training session! Meanwhile, I can wash my whole body with just one damp towel. "And the worst part of this is that they want to kick me out after I made an itemized bill to split expenses. These cheapskates are always taking advantage of me. I'm looking for a high-quality dorm to take me in." My eyes light up instantly. He's the one!

On the first day of school, my roommate, Kelly Anderson, claimed she was the Wolf Princess. She strutted in wearing what she proudly called wolf fur. One glance was all it took for me to see that it was fake. That was clearly fake. "Stella, what was that look? Get on your knees!" Kelly exclaimed. She even held up a toad, claiming it was a rare golden toad the clan leader had taken ages to obtain for her. I grabbed the toad and shoved it straight into her mouth. "You think you're all that? If you're the Wolf Princess, then who am I?"

When my son, Leonard Chester, breaks his leg, I rush over to take care of him. I catch a strong, rotten stench the moment I walk through the door and offer to tidy up the place for them. Leonard's roommates immediately looked displeased. "Where's this smell you're talking about? There's no smell! If you think this place is too shabby, then have Leonard move somewhere else. You shouldn't pull your seniority and try to gross us out! We won't fall for that stuff!" Leonard limps over and shoves me impatiently. "You should just come visit me if you want to! Why do you have to stir up trouble and embarrass me?" It's just a bunch of university roommates sharing an old apartment in an aging residential complex. They're all eating and drinking together, with smoke filling the room. I notice that the room is filled with smoke, but even that can't mask the awful stench. Is something wrong with my sense of smell? Yet, when I go to sleep that night, the smell is so overpowering that I can't fall asleep. I finally realize that the odor is coming from Leonard. I quickly take him to wash himself and scrub him repeatedly, but the stench remains just as intense. I have no other option but to hire a cleaning lady and have her disinfect the house inside and out. Leonard's roommates feel offended and start arguing with me. In the ensuing chaos, I'm pushed to the ground, and my temple strikes the sharp edge of the coffee table. I die on the spot. I open my eyes and realize I've returned to the moment when it all begins, standing at the door for the first time. I'm greeted by the overwhelming stench once again.

Five years ago, I was nearly killed in a car accident while saving my mother-in-law. My injuries were so severe that I spent years abroad undergoing treatment and rehabilitation. The moment I landed back home, I ran into my former college roommate, Vanessa Caldwell. She and her designer-clad friends looked me up and down with open disgust. "Gianna Lott?" Vanessa stared at me. "Is that really you?" One of her friends covered her mouth and giggled. "Vanessa, why does your old roommate look like she just got out of cleaning the airport bathrooms?" Vanessa waved a hand, pretending to defend me. "Don't be rude. Then again, Gianna's mother was a housekeeper..." She paused dramatically before giving me a fake, apologetic smile. "Oh my God, Gianna. I'm so sorry. Was I not supposed to mention that?" I had no interest in entertaining them. I turned to leave, but Vanessa stepped directly into my path. "By the way, my son's first birthday party is tomorrow," she said. "We haven't seen each other in years. You absolutely have to come." I rejected, "No, thanks. I'm not interested." Her friend's expression immediately darkened. "Don't be so ungrateful. Do you even know who Vanessa married?" She leaned closer, her voice dripping with superiority. "Her husband is the heir to the most powerful family in Crownmere. Someone like you could live 10 lifetimes and still never get close to a man like him." Another woman tittered meanly. "Just look at her. She probably doesn't even own a proper dress. Gianna, should I donate one of my old ones to you?" Vanessa raised a hand, putting on another performance. "That's enough." Then, she looked at me with exaggerated pity. "Gianna, I never imagined your life would turn out this badly." She sighed. "For old times' sake, I can arrange a catering job for you at the party. You'll earn a little money and get a glimpse of how the upper class lives." Before I could refuse, she shoved an invitation into my hand. I was about to throw it away when the name listed under "Father of the Birthday Boy" caught my eye and my breath hitched. It was my husband's name, Alexander Whitmore.

When I started college, I wanted a normal college experience, so I refused to use the black card my parents gave me. My roommate, Peggy Slade, was on need-based financial aid. Every day, she did two things. First, she'd sweet-talk her rich, hot online boyfriend and brag about him. Second, she'd make fun of me, the small-town nobody who couldn't even recognize designer brands. All my clothes back home were custom-made, so I honestly didn't know a single logo. I never bothered explaining. Her online romance was more entertaining than reality TV. Then one day, a screenshot of a money transfer popped up on her phone, and I caught a glimpse. 'Wait. She's using my photos for online dating?' Worse, she'd saved her boyfriend under "Arnault Family Heir." 'But the Arnault family in Rivera is my family. And I'm my parents' only daughter.' I immediately called my assistant. "Find out if my parents have an illegitimate kid."

After the semester began, all of my dorm mates wanted a part-time job. To fit in, I said I wanted one too. One by one, my dorm mates found part-time jobs, while I was still lazing around in the dorm. My dorm mate sent me a message. [How are you going to get by without a job?] I remembered a meme I'd seen online and texted back, "A kind middle-aged couple pays my bills, so I don't need a job right now." I didn't think much of it, until I stumbled across a post on social media. [My dorm mate said she wanted to get a part-time job, but all she does is lie around the dorm. When I asked how she could afford not to work, she said a married couple was paying all her bills. Should I report her for misconduct?] I thought it was funny. The comments gave her all kinds of advice. [Report her! What if she takes a scholarship spot from you?] [Exactly, get her expelled!] I still didn't think much of it until my academic advisor, Ethan Davis, showed up at my door. "Chloe, someone reported you for misconduct. They claim you're a sugar baby. Is that true?"

My online boyfriend was ridiculously clingy. Every single night, he insisted on phone calls. He needed the sound of my voice just to fall asleep. It was way past midnight. Hearing his low, heavy panting through my phone made my face burn and my heart race. "Keep it down," I whispered into the mic. "My roommate is right next door." My roommate was a total mystery. I had no idea what he actually did for a living, but he was loaded—and terrifying. I definitely didn't want to piss him off. Then, floating right before my eyes, glowing text boxes suddenly flashed into thin air: [Does she really not know? The guy next door IS her online boyfriend! It's Matteo, the mafia don!] [Matteo holds massive grudges. If he finds out she's just a paid stand-in chatting for someone else, he'll blow her head off!] [Such a shame. This whole story turns into a total angst-fest later. Otherwise, I'd high-key ship them!] Mafia don? Online boyfriend? And how on earth do these floating texts know I'm chatting on someone else's behalf?! Busted. Panic surged through me. I slammed the end button. I bolted into the hallway, desperate to splash cold water on my face in the bathroom to get a grip. But as I hurried past, a raspy, shaking murmur seeped through the steamy crack of the shower door. "Baby... why'd you hang up on me?"

My roommate was obsessed with those cheesy “milk-scented girl” romance stories. She wanted to become the kind of heroine from those books. Tiny, soft, and delicate, the type who was supposedly so sweet that even her farts smelled like milk. So she went completely overboard. She lived on dairy. Drank milk nonstop. Even took milk baths. She tried everything, all because she was convinced she’d eventually run into her destined male lead. I believed in letting people make their own choices. What I didn’t expect was for her to go after my boyfriend, the guy I’d basically grown up with. One day, she sent him a carefully posed thirst trap. He replied with one word. “Get lost.” Then she proudly showed me the screenshot, like she’d won something. “Only girls like me, soft and sweet and irresistible, deserve a powerful man’s obsessive love.” “Don’t be fooled by how cold he is now. He’ll be crazy about me soon enough. He’ll want me all to himself.” I was just about to tear into her when a row of floating comments suddenly appeared in front of my eyes. “Fresh one, guys. This host is bold. Coming in with a thirst trap right away? Nice.” “Wait, what? Isn’t this just harassment? The male lead already has a girlfriend.” “Bro, I think you’re in the wrong livestream.”

My roommate, Madison Walker, clutches her stomach and leans over to whisper that she has her period. She asks if I have a pad. I don't give her one. Instead, I stand up and call out to the entire lecture hall. "Madison got her period! Does anyone have a pad she can use?" In my past life, I'd discreetly pulled a pad from my bag and kindly handed it to her. Three days later, she tested positive for HIV and faced expulsion. Madison choked back tears as she cried, "The only person who gave me a pad was Calista. The wrapper was already open, but I didn't think anything of it. "I don't know if she did it on purpose, but now I'm HIV-positive! My life is ruined!" The student advisor, Percy Cobb, refused to listen to my explanation. He forced me to take an immediate leave of absence and called the police, accusing me of deliberately spreading an infectious disease. Not only did I lose my diploma and my opportunity to study abroad, but I was also relentlessly cyberbullied and harassed until a normal life became impossible. Ultimately, I jumped from an overpass and ended my life. It was only after my death that I discovered Madison had already contracted HIV before she ever asked me for a pad. She had been seeing multiple guys at once. When everything fell apart, she panicked at the thought of the consequences and used me as a scapegoat. She also had me expelled so she could steal the single remaining spot for the student exchange program. This time, I turn Madison down in front of the entire class. Let's see how she plans to pin her illness on me now.