Page 47 of My Roommate from Hell
Him saying that opens up a whole new world of possibility. Could it really be that easy? I start to imagine just how nice that would be. I picture moving into a different room, one that is nice, quiet, and clean. I envision this potential roommate, someone bland and normal. Maybe we barely interact, only saying casual greetings, but we’re both courteous and respect each other’s space.
The thought doesn’t appeal as much as I thought it would. It should, but for some reason it doesn’t. It has to be because even with all his faults, there is a lot to like about Zarmenus. I don’t want to replace him. I just want him to be a better roommate.
“What would you do if you were me?” I ask.
“It’s tough,” he says. “If someone offered me an internship at theNew York Timesthere isn’t much I wouldn’t do to get it. But at the same time I’ve never lived with someone like Zarmenus. So I don’t know.”
“I don’t, either.”
I look up at the night sky. I don’t like it, but I’m truly not sure if Zarmenus can change. Maybe rolling the dice is the smartest move. I don’t know what good an internship will be if I drop out due to stress, which seems possible if things continue the way they have been.
In my head, I make a choice.
I’ll give Zarmenus one more chance. If I can tell he’s at least trying, I’ll stay.
If not, I’m moving out.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I’m starting to think Zarmenus’s snores have a magical ability.
I mean, everything else about him is magic. He can change his form and control shadows. Is it really a huge stretch of logic that his snores are magically loud? I open my eyes as the weight of a bad night’s sleep presses on my temples.
He doesn’t just snore, he makes a weird gnashing sound with his teeth. Also, they never follow a steady rhythm. As I’ve spent so long listening to his snores, I find myself wishing they would just pick a tempo. That would be much easier to drown out. But no, his snores follow no predictable pattern. Sometimes he’ll even snort.
My arm feels like it’s made of lead as I reach out and stop the alarm buzzing on my phone.
Wait, what’s that smell? Something smells like fish.
I spot the culprit on Zarmenus’s desk. It’s a can of tuna, half-eaten. Some of the contents have spilled out onto the pine surface. And Zarmenus isn’t here, out on one of his early morning runs or gym sessions.
Enough is enough.
If he’s not going to clean up, I’m going to do it for him. I have to, there’s no other choice. I pick up the tuna can, rinse it in the sink, and put it in the recycling bin. Then I get to work with all the otherdiscarded food. I’ve never seen him use it, but he does have a laundry basket in his closet. I gather up his clothes from the floor, left after he took them off. Zarmenus himself might always smell nice, but his sweaty gym shorts do not.
I use a dirty tank top to pick up his underwear, tossing them into the basket as if touching them might give me an infectious disease. I keep going, clearing his empty pizza boxes and putting them into the bin. It fills quickly, so I take it out of the room into the kitchen down the hall, where the larger bins are.
I keep going until our room is spotlessly clean. I vacuum for good measure. The last thing I do is open the window to let some breeze in, and I spray everything with a can of disinfectant.
I feel like I’ve pulled off a work of art.
I wipe my sweaty brow. A shower might be nice. Then I remember the ghoul and reconsider my plans. I know Zarmenus says it can’t hurt me, but it’s pretty much killed relaxing showers for me.
I spot a stain on Zarmenus’s desk and attack it with a cleaning wipe. As it starts to come off, my phone rings. It’s a call from Dad. I’ve called them most afternoons since I got here, just to catch up. What I haven’t told them is how things are truly going with Zarmenus, especially after the dive that’s happened over the past few days.
I take a moment to compose myself, then swipe and answer.
“Hey,” I say.
“Mac!” he says. I can hear he’s in the car. “Mom’s here.”
“Hello!” she calls.
“What are you two up to?”
“Going to the movies,” says Mom. “I sold a painting yesterday!”
“Oh, no way!” I say. “That’s amazing.”
