Page 8 of How I Ruined Everything by Kissing My Roommate

Maya arrived five minutes later. She didn't bother with the door; she just walked straight to the small bathroom connected to our dorm suite to fill up my tiny water jug.

"I can't believe she quoted Butler at me," I groaned, pacing my half of the room. "She was supposed to be easy. She was supposed to be vapid."

Maya emerged from the bathroom, looking thoughtful. "Maybe your perception is the problem, Iris. Maybe she is exactly who she said she was—"

"No, Maya, she's a liar!" I erupted, the control I'd maintained for two weeks finally snapping. "She’s a tourist! Just like Riley!"

I didn't notice the shadow outside the half-open door, the first warning of Sophie’s presence.

Maya sat on the edge of my bed, her voice lowering with concern. "Talk to me, Iris. Why does she feel so much like Riley?"

I sank onto the floor amidst my spilled tubes of Payne's Gray and Cadmium Yellow. The anger was gone, replaced by the raw, humiliated pain I usually kept locked down.

"It wasn't just the cheating, Maya," I whispered, the words catching in my throat. "Everyone saw the screaming match in the cafeteria. Everyone saw me fall apart in critique. People stared at me for months, pitied me, said I’d move on. But I felt so used…like I meant nothing to her while she meant everything to me.”

I looked up at Maya, tears finally stinging my eyes. "She said... she was using me as an 'experiment’, trying me out before going back to her ex, and I was the one who got too serious and started expecting long-term."

I balled my fists in the soft, worn fabric of my jeans. "I can't be someone's passing fancy again, Maya. Seeing Sophie with that guy, with Mark, hanging off his arm and laughing —it just felt like Riley all over again. The casualness. The ease of it. I can't risk being the messy practice round, can’t risk getting my heart involved again.”

I buried my face in my knees, shaking with the shame and fear. "I hate her because she represents the danger of falling for someone who isn't safe. And I hate myself because I still want her to look at me."

A long, heavy silence descended on the room, broken only by my shaky breathing.

Then, a faint, barely audible sound—the slow, careful shift of weight—came from the shadows outside the door.

Maya moved, holding me. “It’s okay, Iris. You’ll get over it someday, but I know how deep Riley’s betrayal cut.” I held my best friend, letting the burden inside me lighten a little. “I’m here for you, however long it takes.”

“Thanks.” I sniffed, still not knowing that Sophie stood outside the door, listening to me bare my heart.

It took her five more seconds to open the door, to come bursting in like nothing had happened.

“Good evening, Hart.” Her gaze moved to Maya. “Maya. Looks like someone’s been having a wine party in the room while I was gone.”

She put her bag on her table, and I moved away from Maya, making sure she didn’t know of my misery.

The dormitory air was thick and cold when I finally climbed into bed. The raw, ugly truth about Riley, and the humiliation of having been seen by Maya in that state, left me shaky. I pulled the duvet up to my chin, staring into the oppressive dark, listening to the patter of a sudden, cold rain beginning to fall outside the window.

I was awake long after the usual silence of the dorm settled in. A quiet sound cut through the rain—a muffled sigh from Sophie’s bed. Then, her voice, low and reflective, spoke into the encompassing darkness. She didn't turn on her light. She didn't shift.

"I hate this silence, Iris," Sophie admitted, her voice trembling slightly, laced with unexpected vulnerability. "It’s worse than yelling. It feels like we’re strangers sharing a tomb."

I gripped the duvet tighter, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm. I didn't want to talk, but the raw honesty in her tone was disarming.

"I know you think I'm easy," Sophie continued, her voice catching just a little. "Easy with a smile, easy with my life, easy to figure out. But I'm not. You were right about one thing, though. I am performing. It’s my shield. The 'Captain Sophie' thing is suffocating sometimes.”

I heard her shift, and I could feel the weight of her sincerity across the dividing space.

"It’s what people want to see, right?" she asked the ceiling. "They want the leader who is never scared, never hurt, never makes a mistake. They see the cheerful charmer, and they think they know the whole story. They don't see the hours of pain, the injuries, the fear that one bad game will make them regret putting a captain's band on my arm."

My heart thudded, taking in her confessions. I wanted to know more about her, but was too afraid to ask. She paused, and the silence this time felt heavy with shared secrets, even if I didn't know hers. "I perform because I'm terrified of letting my team down. It's easier to be the Golden Girl than the one who’s scared she's going to mess up the final play. I don’t claim to be selfless, but I think everyone likes a person who is full of warmth."

The emotional vulnerability stripped away the last of my defensive anger. This wasn't the shallow jock I had invented; this was a woman under intense pressure, wrestling with her own expectations. It paralleled my own fear of failure, my own need to hide behind a mask of indifference. But at least, she had the courage to talk about it.

I finally responded, the words rough and barely audible, forcing myself to participate in the sincerity.

"It's exhausting," I admitted, speaking from my own experience with art critiques. "The effort of having to maintain our cold war."

“Cold war? Is that what we’re calling it?” Her bright tone made me smile.