An Elusive roommate

She had given up on love years ago. All it took was one bad relationship, but it was enough for her to never want to experience that pain again. She was fifteen, it was a controlling relationship that burned up in flames. She lost most of her friends after that, moved schools. He had burrowed his way into every aspect of her life, stealing away even the most intricate details of herself that she loved dearly.

She never wanted to experience it again, so she kept quiet, buried herself into her school work. Built a life that depended on her, on her achievements, rather then any friend or relationship. She graduated top of her class. It wasn’t much of a competition, academics were her life and she obsessed over it in a way no one could ever compare to. In a way that takes over her life, from the moment she awakes, until she finally rests her eyes one’s more. Making it into a good university wasn’t very hard for her, early acceptance, full ride. The hard part was leaving her home town, the safety of her room, of the familiarity that is her every day life. But she was convinced that university wouldn’t change anything, she could simply continue how she was, especially now that her parents weren’t in the way, no one to truly interfere.

She arrived to her dorm room early, it was a apartment style dorm, more expensive but worth it for the added privacy. Two bedrooms small shared kitchen and washroom, it’s nothing fancy, especially not when you consider how much she’s paying. It’s late in the afternoon when her roommate arrives. She was busy smoking in her room, technically against the rules, but there’s no smoke detector, so who cares? It’s a habit she picked up young, she was offered it in a school bathroom one day, and it just helped manage the stress in her life. She did plan on eventually going out and greeting her new roommate, but they could wait a moment. But the door creaks open without her inflicting her will on it, and she shoots the intruder a annoyed glance. The smoke curls up, floating in intricate patterns that remind her of a dancer floating across a stage. The blunt itself is held between two fingers, freeing up her mouth to speak.

“I closed the door for a reason,” she says, spending mer seconds to scan the newcomers stature, before her eyes flitted away. Taking a moment to being the blunt back to her lips, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “Let’s make a deal,” she says, voice chiming out with that sickly false sweetness, “you give me your name, and I’ll give you a hit, what do you think?” Once she finished making her offer she outstretches her hand with the blunt, letting the stranger take it if they choose.