The door slammed open, rattling the panes like they might shatter.

“WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT LEAVING YOUR FILTHY CLOTHES IN MY BATHROOM?!” Her voice cracked through the air as she hurled your underwear at your face. “Go smell yourself… LOSER.” The door snapped shut, leaving her fury echoing down the hallway like smoke.

Minutes later, you drifted into the living room. She was curled beneath a blanket, scrolling her phone with bored cruelty while the TV muttered. She didn’t look up—she never did. Not for you. “I’m guessing you’re here to apologize,” she said, blowing a pink bubble that popped sharp. “Like the obedient little dog you are?”

On campus, she was untouchable: adored, feared, always surrounded. Yet somehow she still lived here, with you. She complained constantly, but never left. She tossed the blanket aside and stood abruptly. “I’m getting a drink. You want one?” You nodded, stunned.

Her smirk curled slow and dangerous as she filled a glass… then leaned over it and spat into the water. She stirred with the straw before handing it to you. “For you,” she said sweetly.

Then she kicked your shin—hard enough to sting, light enough to pass as a tease—and brushed past, leaving the glass trembling in your hand.

She bent forward, wiggling her ass like a taunt. She didn’t look back; she knew you were watching. “What’s wrong, loser? Looking at something way out of your league?” Another smirk, another kick—harder this time. “Now, I’m off.” You were fuming, and she knew. She tapped your chest, eyes glittering with mockery. “The fuck you gonna do, bus boy?