Chapter 3

The next morning, the tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. Madison was giving me the silent treatment, but it was a loud, performative silence. She slammed drawers, stomped around her side of the room, and let out dramatic sighs every few minutes. Olivia and I just ignored her, getting ready for our classes as if she wasn't there.

I knew this was just the beginning. Madison's tactics would escalate until she got the reaction she wanted. Her need for my attention, even negative attention, was a hunger that couldn't be ignored.

I was applying some mascara when I saw her in the mirror's reflection. She was standing behind me, way too close, peering over my shoulder at my laptop, which was open on my desk.

"What are you working on?" she asked, her voice sickly sweet. "Is that the proposal for the scholarship?"

I froze. The scholarship. The one she would sabotage.

"It's just some notes," I said, turning to face her. She was practically breathing on me. "Madison, can you please back up? You're in my space."

She blinked her big, innocent eyes. "Oh, sorry. I was just curious. You're so smart, Chloe. I wish I was as organized as you."

She then reached past me, her hand heading for my mouse. "Can I just see how you formatted it? Professor Miller is so picky about..."

Before she could touch it, I acted. It was pure instinct, a reflex born from a lifetime of pent-up rage. I "tripped" over my own feet, my arm flailing out as I stumbled. My elbow connected squarely with the large cup of coffee sitting on her desk.

The dark liquid went everywhere. It splashed across her pristine white comforter, soaked a pile of her textbooks, and dripped onto her floor.

The room went silent.

Madison stared at the brown, spreading stain on her bed. Her face went from shock to pure, unadulterated fury. The mask was completely gone.

"You did that on purpose!" she shrieked, whirling on me. Her face was red and blotchy.

I straightened up, my own expression a perfect copy of her signature innocent confusion. "What? No! I tripped. My shoelace was untied." I pointed to my perfectly tied shoe. "Oh, wait. I guess it wasn't. I'm just so clumsy sometimes. I am so, so sorry, Madison."

I used her own words, her own excuses, against her. It felt incredible.

"Don't you lie to me!" she screamed. Olivia had taken off her headphones and was watching the scene unfold with wide, fascinated eyes. "You've been acting like a total bitch all day, and now you ruined my bed!"

"Madison, why are you yelling?" I asked, my voice soft and reasonable. "It was an accident. There's no need to use that kind of language. I said I was sorry."

I was gaslighting the gaslighter.

She looked like she was about to explode. She took a step toward me, her hands clenched into fists.

That's when I dropped the act. My face went cold. "Don't even think about it," I said, my voice low and dangerous. "This was an accident. But if you ever, ever try to touch my things or invade my space again, the next time won't be an accident. Do you understand me?"

The threat hung in the air between us, sharp and undeniable. Madison froze. She had never seen this side of me. The Chloe she knew was a doormat, a people-pleaser. This new Chloe was someone she didn't recognize, and it scared her.

She just stood there, sputtering, unable to form a coherent sentence.

"Clean up your mess," I said, grabbing my backpack. "Olivia, let's go. We'll be late for class."

Olivia, looking thoroughly impressed, grabbed her bag and followed me out the door, leaving Madison standing in the middle of her coffee-soaked disaster.

As soon as the door closed behind us, Olivia let out a low whistle. "Damn, girl. That was epic. She had it coming."

"She's had it coming for a long time," I said, a grim satisfaction settling over me.

The small victory felt good, but I knew it wasn't a permanent solution. I couldn't live like this, constantly waiting for her next move. As soon as we got to campus, I headed straight for the housing office.

"I'd like to request a room change," I told the bored-looking administrator behind the counter.

She sighed, not even looking up from her computer. "Room change requests are closed for the semester unless there's an emergency."

"This is an emergency," I said. "My roommate is creating a hostile living environment. She's harassing me."

The administrator finally looked at me, her expression unimpressed. "What kind of harassment? Is she threatening you? Has she been violent?"

"She's... manipulative," I tried to explain. "She does things to deliberately upset me and then pretends it's an accident. She tries to isolate me. It's psychological."

The woman gave me a pitying look. "Honey, 'my roommate is annoying' isn't grounds for a room change. Do you have any proof? Any emails, texts? Any witnesses to this 'harassment'?"

I thought of the spilled coffee. I was the one who looked like the aggressor. I thought of her loud sighs and passive-aggressive comments. How could I prove any of it? That was her genius. Her attacks were always deniable.

"No," I admitted, my shoulders slumping. "Not really."

"Then there's nothing I can do," she said, her tone final as she turned back to her screen. "You'll have to learn to work it out."

I walked out of the office feeling a familiar wave of frustration. The system was designed to ignore problems like Madison. It only recognized loud, obvious conflicts. It had no tools to deal with a quiet, insidious tormentor.

It confirmed what I already knew. No one was coming to save me. If I wanted to win this war, I had to fight it on my own terms. And I had to be just as cunning and ruthless as my enemy.