Roommate Short Stories & Novels

My roommate beamed with pride as she told me a horrifying secret: she had allowed a wealthy businessman to "remove" her unborn child, claiming he absorbed the baby’s fortune in exchange for a hefty payout. Chills ran down my spine. I urged her to stop meddling with such dark dealings before it destroyed her, but she wouldn’t listen. Instead, she threw herself into it, addicted to helping people "transfer luck" for money. Her luck ran out when she contracted a mysterious disease. When her boyfriend found out, she turned on me, tearfully accusing me of tying her to another man’s bed. Before I could even defend myself, an enraged man ran me down with his car. The next thing I knew, I woke up to find myself back in time. My roommate was leaning in close, her eyes glinting with excitement as she whispered, asking if I wanted to join her "luck transfer" schemes. This time, I wasn’t taking any chances. I noticed the slight swell of her belly and immediately sent a text to her boyfriend: "Congrats! You’re going to be a dad!"

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.

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?"

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."

My girlfriend, Olivia, had one way of measuring how much I loved her: how fast I replied. In the two years we dated, she blocked me 88 times. The first time, I was in the shower and missed her call. The 17th time, I was bringing her coffee when I missed a message asking for extra ice. The 56th time, I was at dinner with a client and didn't respond quickly enough to a video she'd sent me. This time, I worked until ten and missed the 9:50 p.m. movie she'd asked me to see with her. I told her there was a problem with the project and my manager wouldn't let me leave. She just laughed. "Anyone who really loves me would make it to a movie even with ten minutes' notice." When I got home that night, she'd changed the door code and removed my fingerprint from the lock. I sat outside all night. After work the next day, I went to her favorite jeweler and bought the necklace she'd wanted for the past three months. I kept telling myself I hadn't done enough. I just needed to do a better job balancing work and our relationship. She was in the shower when I got home. Her phone lit up on the dining table. A notification from a group chat called "Do Not Bring Him Tonight" flashed across the screen. Olivia, her childhood friend Ethan, and my best friend Daniel were all in it. Daniel had sent a voice message. "Olivia, I'll keep Chris at work late again tomorrow. Let's see if he chooses overtime or you." Ethan replied almost immediately with a laugh. "I found another beautiful piece of jewelry. It costs three times his salary. Send it to him and see if he chooses his paycheck or you." That was when I finally understood. I hadn't failed to prove that I loved her. They'd been setting me up to fail from the beginning. And if that was how things really were, I was done.

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."

The day I received my full-time offer email, my roommate suddenly popped her head out from her bunk curtain. "Megan, go ahead and decline that job offer email." I froze, turning around to stare at her in disbelief. "Anna, what are you talking about?" She looked down at me, taking her sweet time before speaking. "Your team lead is my boyfriend. That spot was reserved for me all along." My heart skipped a beat. Was I really dealing with a nepo-baby trying to hijack my job? I closed my laptop and stepped over to her bed. "Wait, you've never even interned at our company." "I don't need to intern. I'm a direct hire," she declared, her tone oozing confidence and arrogance. My eyelids twitched as I pulled up my team lead's social media feed, but there wasn't a single photo of them together. "So, how long have you two been dating?" "We're about to start dating." "What do you mean by about to?" "I just sent him a friend request. As soon as he accepts, we're official."

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.

When I woke up, my right hand was clutching a pair of men's Calvin Klein underwear. Two letters were embroidered in gold thread on the inside of the waistband: J.C. A push notification popped up right on cue. Number three on TikTok's trending page: Dalton University's hockey captain loses five pairs of underwear in one week; roommate reveals the victim has been forced to go commando. In the video, Chase Jacobson's roommate, Tyler Brooks, held an empty drawer up to the camera and tearfully demanded justice. And under my pillow, a suspicious little bundle bulged. I slowly reached over. One pair, two, three, four. Plus the one in my hand: five. The underwear thief the whole school was hunting... turned out to be me.

My supervisor, Jessica Lawson, spotted me coming and going from a multimillion-dollar oceanfront estate in the Hamptons. She decided I'd landed a wealthy man and was about to marry into money. That same night, she dropped the estate's location into the company group chat and invited everyone to a department party there. "Emma Bennett is hosting at her oceanfront estate this weekend. Bring your families. Everyone in the department is invited!" I patiently explained that I was just a part-time caretaker. "My job is literally walking the owner's dog." But the group chat went feral. Everyone ignored me and started placing orders. "Remember to open the Romanée-Conti early so it has time to breathe." "Pick me up in the Lamborghini that day. Ferraris just aren't my vibe." In under ten minutes, more than fifty people had signed up. Jessica tagged me directly. "The catering bill is going under your name. Make us proud, and don't embarrass the boss." I gave a humorless laugh at the endless sign-up list. Richard Hale, the estate's owner, was a boxer who stood nearly six foot six and was built like The Rock. The last thief who trespassed on his property is still in a coma.

On the first day of classes, my roommate gives me a crystal bracelet as a welcome gift. Without thinking, I quickly adorn it around her mother's wrist. In my past life, my roommate wanted to be a social butterfly. She was determined to have a hundred boyfriends by the time she graduated. But no matter how reckless she was, she never ended up conceiving. On the other hand, I kept getting pregnant and having countless miscarriages. But unlike her, I had never been in a relationship. The entire university mocked me, labeling me promiscuous and shameless. During my 66th miscarriage, I died on the operating table from severe bleeding. It was only after death that I realized the crystal bracelet my roommate gave me had somehow linked our wombs together. As soon as I opened my eyes, I realized I had gone back to the first day of the semester.

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?

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?"

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 dormmates are my bullies. When they hear that my father owns a factory, they force me to get them part-time jobs there for the summer. I look down at the wounds they've inflicted on me and smile. They've just served themselves up for slaughter—they've given me the perfect opportunity to get revenge on them. My father's factory isn't as great as they think—it's known for its strange happenings.

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!"

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?

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.

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…