The Roommate

I flopped down onto the hard wooden chair that accompanied the desk built into the room. Today had been a tiresome day. I still could barely wrap my head around the fact that those girls had seen nothing wrong with gossipping about someone they had never met. And to make those assumptions about what I would or wouldn’t stand for?

It was ridiculous! Who are they to assume that they know someone based on glances and looks? Those kinds of people irritate me to no end. Like, what was the point of making assumptions about someone you've never met? And when you aren't part of their lives? Just leave people alone, especially if you care more about their potential then their true self.

Groaning, I straightened in the chair. I pulled books out from my backpack, halfway intending to do some studying before midnight hit. Not that I needed it. I had spent the summer reading in the small town library, and most of those books had been old textbooks that people had decided to “donate” to the library. That in itself had set me up enough that doing homework was plenty to reinforce the concepts and the practice of what we were supposed to be learning from our teachers.

I flipped open the top book, which just-so-happened to be for my Calc class, when I heard that most dreaded sound of all sounds: heavy feet stomping down the hallway while a tinkling little giggle accompanied the steps.

My roommate was here, probably half drunk and ignorant that it was still a school night. My supposed “best friend” never really paid attention in class, which is probably why no night seemed to be a school night. I shook my head. If only he would use those brains of his for something more than getting girls and avoiding trouble.

The door opened and I looked up at the ceiling in defeat. It wouldn’t matter how much I didn’t want it to be so. Three weeks with the college’s top quarterback had taught me that it really was happening, despite how many times I had asked for him to keep it in his pants during the week.

A thud announced that one or both of them had fallen against the door, likely pinning it closed in the process. I turned around so I could glare at them. It was the usual sight: my roommate and tonight’s hook-up were flailing their clothing off of each other as they tried to gag themselves on the other’s tongue. Disgusting. Why couldn’t he have the decency to check for his roommate before stripping each other?