When my roommate disappeared overnight to live with her boyfriend, I thought she’d at least handle the rent situation like an adult. Two months later, she showed up pounding on my door, screaming about changed locks and missing belongings. When I first rented this place, the landlord told me there was already one person living here, and they just needed one more roommate.
Her name was Milly. Honestly, I was happy about it. Living alone seemed scary, and having someone to split the bill with sounded perfect.
I thought I’d found the ideal situation. Boy, was I wrong about being happy. Don’t get me wrong, Milly wasn’t a bad person.
She was sweet, caring, and genuinely nice when you talked to her. She’d ask about my day, remember little things I mentioned, and we’d sometimes watch movies together on weekends. But the thing was, she never had her own stuff.
I’m talking about basic things like toilet paper, dish soap, and laundry detergent. I’d buy these things, and somehow they would disappear twice as fast as they should. She’d even use my shampoo and coffee.
When I’d hint about it, she’d say things like, “Oh, I’ll grab some next time I’m out!”
But next time never came. The rent situation was even worse. She was always late.
The first month, she came to me three days after rent was due, looking stressed. “Hey, Cynthia? I’m so sorry, but I’m a little short this month.
Could you cover me? I promise I’ll pay you back next week.”
I covered her. Next week came and went, but I got no payment.
When I brought it up, she got this hurt look and said, “I thought we were friends. I’m going through a rough time right now.”
“We are friends,” I replied. “But you said you’d pay me back.”
“I promise I’ll pay you back next week,” she said.
But that payment never came. Besides that, the dishes piled up like Jenga blocks in the sink, the trash overflowed until I couldn’t stand the smell anymore, and the bathroom looked like a tornado had hit it. I’d clean everything, and within days, it was back to chaos.
I often wondered how Milly was managing before I moved in. Like, how was she even surviving in this place if she wasn’t doing the bare minimum? The landlord had mentioned she’d been living here for six months before I arrived.
Did she just live in filth? Or had she found other people to take care of everything for her? It made me wonder if Milly had become careless intentionally because she knew I would take care of everything.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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