Page 132 of My Roommate from Hell
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“You can go,” he says. “I know you don’t really like me. It’s all for your internship.”
“Hey, shh!”
His voice was loud, and these walls are thin.
“We should talk about it,” he says. “You only pretend to like me so you can go work at Google. That was the deal, right? Pretend to date me and all your dreams will come true.”
I move even closer, hoping he’ll get the idea that he needs to be quiet. “That’s not true. But please, listen, you have to be quiet.”
“Can you sit for a second?”
I’ll do anything if he’ll keep his voice down. I move over to the bed and sit down beside him.
“I’m sorry,” he says, scooting closer. “I’ve never had this much potion before.”
“It happens to the best of us.”
“Not to you.”
I laugh. “Yeah, well, I’m not exactly the most fun.”
“You are. You’re more fun than anyone I’ve met here. Seriously.”
Would he be saying this if he weren’t this drunk? He’s complimented me before, but this seems deeper, more real.
“Just tell me this,” he says. “Are you glad that we got to be roommates?”
“Of course. This thing with you, it’s been the most fun I’ve ever had.”
“Me too.”
He presses his forehead against my shoulder.
“What if,” he says, but then he stops himself.
I’m split in two. One part of me wants to tell him to stop, because he is moving into territory I’m sure he wouldn’t if he were sober. The other part of me is so incredibly curious about what he’s going to say, and why he’s doing what he is right now. Everything is risky and I already know that something enormous is happening, and my whole future hangs on this very moment.
“What if what?”
He rests even more of his weight against me. “Nothing.”
“No, go on. Tell me.”
“I can’t.”
A few moments pass. Should I press him, and try to get a proper explanation? I decide I should probably leave. No good can come from staying here any longer. It’s too volatile, too risky. He’s drunk and I really want to confess to him how things have changed for me but I know it’s a bad move. I have to go before I say something I know I’ll regret.
“Sleep it off, okay,” I say. I pat him on the leg, then get up.
“Owen,” he calls as I reach the door. “I like you.”
I stop with my hand on the door handle. He’s told me that before, sure. But this time, I know with complete certainty what he means. He’s not telling me he likes me as a friend, or as a roommate. He’s telling me he likes me in a romantic sense.
“I like you, too,” I say, not even sure he can hear me.
With that, I slip outside to find Tyrell standing in the hallway. He was listening to us.
