Reckless Roommates

1

The heavy September rain poured down upon the car's roof as we pulled into the driveway. As soon as my brother opened the door, a cold chill brushed against my bare arms, sending shivers down my spine. Hastily, I stepped out of the passenger side and hurried to the back of the grey sedan where my brother was struggling with my luggage.

The rain drenched my dark braids, leaving trails of water on my face. My clothes clung uncomfortably to my body, soaked and heavy. My brother shook his head and gestured toward the three-story red brick house in front of us. I dashed toward the house, shielding myself under the overhang of the doorway.

The rain continued to pour, and I just stood there, watching my brother wrestle with my heavy purple suitcase, struggling to maneuver it. I wanted him to let me help, but he insisted on doing all the heavy work. Though my gratitude was evident on my face, my heart was heavy with all the guilt I carried with me.

He fished out keys from the pocket of his dark jeans and unlocked the glass door. I grabbed one of my two suitcases and eyed my surroundings. The house was big and nice inside. The ceilings were high, and the floor was dark brown oak. The house was too big for him alone; his student grant wasn't enough to cover the five-bedroom house. He shared it with two other roommates, and after a lot of begging, he reluctantly agreed for me to be the fourth roommate.

"Your room is upstairs," my brother said. The tension between my brother and me was heavy and thick. He guided me toward the spiral staircase; our footsteps echoed through the spacious house. "You are lucky you got a sweet room," my brother commented as we arrived at my designated room. That was the most he said to me during our three-hour-long drive from Kingston to Ottawa.

I surveyed the room, and it was huge—way bigger than the one I had back home in Kingston. The walls were white, the bed in the center with a brown drawer on the side. A giant window faced another red brick house. There was a walk-in closet and a luxurious ensuite bathroom.

"Is this the master bedroom?" I asked. He nodded. "Only the best for the princess," he joked, reminding me of the nickname Mom and Dad used to lovingly call me. I knew he didn't mean any harm, but I still couldn't help feeling the stab of disappointment hit me straight in the chest.

"Yeah," I forced a smile, sadness washing through me. He could see he struck a nerve. "Bree," he started, his voice laced with concern. I knew he wanted to talk about what happened over the summer. I shook my head, not wanting to head into that dark hole again. "I don't want to talk about it, William."

"It's just that..."

I shut him down again. "William, seriously, I don't want to talk about it." He hesitated, the words that plagued him hanging above us. However, in the end, he respected my wishes. "Alright, get settled in. I'll order us some pizza. Sound good?"

I forced another smile onto my lips. "Sure."

"Good," he said as he headed out of the room.

Alone, in silence, I changed from my wet clothes into something more comfortable—a pair of red shorts and a tank top with all the Avengers plastered on it. I unpacked my things slowly and started to organize my belongings in the walk-in closet. Among my things, I found three picture frames, each holding memories of when things used to be good.

The first frame was a picture of my family: William, our dad, our mom, and me. We took it last year during our one-week vacation to Toronto. Dad had somehow convinced William to come home for the summer, and we all drove up there to celebrate Dad's birthday.

The second picture was of me and Tom. It was taken on our fourteenth birthday. We both had huge smiles as we blew out the birthday cake candles. Tom and I had been friends for as long as I could remember. We were both from the same country, and our fathers were friends. So, having our birthdays just a day apart, joint family celebrations became a tradition.

The last picture was just of me, a time when everything used to be bearable. When I was a good daughter, a good sister, and a good friend. I missed Tom so much, but lately, I haven't been able to talk to him. After everything that happened, I just couldn't bring myself to. I didn't have the strength in me.

Sometimes, when it felt too much to be alone and I didn't want to be by myself, I would dial Tom's number. Right when I was about to hit the call button, I'd stop. It was just hard to bring myself to talk to him. How in the world did everything go wrong? How the hell did I end up this messed up?

"Bree, pizza is here!" my brother yelled from downstairs.

I quickly placed the picture frames on top of the drawer.

"Coming!" I called back.

I knew it was time for me to go downstairs. If I didn't, my brother would finish all the pizza without even batting an eye. I left the remainder of my things scattered on the bed; I would put everything else away after eating. I grabbed my wet clothes, and I needed to find the laundry room.

I walked out of my room and came face to face with six other closed doors.

"William, where is the laundry room?" I called out, already feeling at home in this place.

Honestly, this new place felt more homely than the cold house I left in Kingston. That place had turned dark and lonely despite having three people living in it. It was like I had become invisible to both my parents, but truth be told, I did my best to avoid them. My mom had stopped asking me to do chores. She would leave my food on the kitchen counter, and when I knew no one was in sight, I'd snatch my meal. I was really happy that I was done with that crap.

"William," I called out, annoyance creeping into my voice. "Where is the laundry room?"

"It is the third door on your right," he replied.

Alright, the laundry room was three doors down. I proceeded, cautiously counting each door as I passed. When I reached the third door, I silently let out a couple of curses. I should have gone downstairs and dragged my brother up here, because now I was about to make a complete fool of myself.

I took a deep breath and swung the door open, and I froze.

There, in all his glory, stood a tall, lean figure—stark naked. He was drying his hair with a white towel. I should've closed the door real slow, but no, I had to go and blurt out a loud "Shit!" Smooth, Bree. Real smooth.

He spun around, his blue eyes widening as they locked with mine for a brief moment before my eyes lowered to the region I had no business looking at. He scrambled to cover his... uh, private area. Heat rushed to my cheeks as I quickly averted my gaze, mortified by what I just saw. I mumbled some apologies before I turned and ran back up to my room.

*****