The Uninvited Houseguest
Out of sheer kindness, I brought my drunk, heartbroken coworker home for the night after she'd been dumped. Little did I know, she'd treat my place like it was her own.
"Isla, I gave my ex my whole paycheck. I'm just gonna stay here for the rest of the month. You've got this huge place all to yourself anyway—such a waste. It's perfect, we can keep each other company. And hey, no rent. You're already cooking for yourself, so what's one more plate, right?"
I stopped typing and blinked, trying to process what she was saying.
She kept going, "Don't worry, I'm not gonna take advantage—I'll chip in 2 bucks a day. Honestly, you must get so lonely living alone. Aren't I sweet for offering?"
I just stared at her, barely holding back a laugh at her blatant audacity.
That evening, I slipped out of the office early, went straight home, and deadbolted the door behind me. No matter how much she knocked and yelled from the hallway, I didn't budge.
The next morning, she stormed over to my desk and slammed her hand on my cubicle wall, her tone dripping with accusation. "You were home last night—why didn't you open the door?! I had nowhere to go, had to crash at a hotel, and between that and food, I dropped 60 bucks. You owe me."
She shoved her phone screen—payment receipts on full display—right in my face.
I couldn't help it—I laughed out loud.
If she wanted to play that game, fine. If she thought she could push me around, she was about to learn what real-world consequences looked like.