Roommate Short Stories & Novels

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.

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.

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 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?"

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."

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.

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 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.

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!"

My roommate buys an off-the-shoulder top. I happen to own one too. Apparently, that's all it takes for her to start telling everyone I'm obsessed with copying her. According to her, I'm like a rat, constantly watching her and stealing her style. Seriously? I open my closet and reveal rows upon rows of clothes, packed from end to end—all from the latest collections. Then I turn to her with a smile. "So, tell me. How exactly am I copying you?"

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."

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 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.