Stolen Life, Stolen Style

My eyes snapped open.

The dorm room ceiling, with its familiar water stain shaped like a crooked smile, loomed above.

Across the room, Brianna Jones hummed softly, applying makeup.

She wore a cheap copy of my cashmere sweater.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

This wasn' t right.

This was weeks ago.

The memories crashed down: the Paris program acceptance, the "going away" party, the sickening taste, then absolute darkness.

Brianna had poisoned me.

I saw her smirk, remembered collapsing.

Yet here she was, her reflection smiling sweetly in her compact mirror, her voice falsely cheerful.

"Morning, sleepyhead," she chirped.

This was the ambitious girl from a small town.

My roommate.

The one who wanted my life.

I stared at her, the image of her malicious triumph at my party seared into my brain.

The subtle digs, the way she' d implied I was the copycat, her constant imitation of my style, my social media.

She' d meticulously cataloged me, then painstakingly isolated me, even turning away Liam, the hockey captain I genuinely liked.

All my kindness burned away in the hospital bed I now only remembered.

"You okay, Ava?" she asked, a tilt to her head.

"You look like you've seen a ghost."

My parents always told me I was too trusting, too eager to see the good in people.

They were right.

This inexplicable situation felt like a cruel joke, yet it was real.

The date on my phone confirmed it.

Several weeks before the party.

Before she tried to kill me.

I had a second chance.

And this time, I wouldn' t be naive.

I wouldn' t be kind to the snake in my room.

This time, Ava Miller wouldn't be a doormat.

This time, I would fight.

My eyes snapped open.

The ceiling was familiar, too familiar.

It was the dorm room ceiling, the one with the faint water stain shaped like a crooked smile.

My head throbbed, a dull ache behind my eyes.

I sat up, the thin university mattress creaking under me.

Across the room, Brianna Jones hummed softly, applying makeup.

She was wearing a blue sweater, a cheap copy of my cashmere one.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

This wasn' t right.

This was weeks ago.

The Paris program acceptance letter, the "going away" party, the bitter taste in my mouth before everything went black.

Brianna had poisoned me. I remembered the smirk on her face as I collapsed.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Brianna chirped, her reflection smiling sweetly in her compact mirror.

Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard to my memory, but here, now, it was just...Brianna.

The ambitious, "struggling" girl from a small town.

My roommate.

The one who wanted my life.

"You okay, Ava?" she asked, her head tilted. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

I stared at her, the image of her malicious triumph at my party seared into my brain.

"Just a bad dream," I managed, my voice raspy.

The date on my phone confirmed it.

Several weeks before the party. Before she tried to kill me.

I had a second chance.

And this time, I wouldn' t be naive.

I wouldn' t be kind to the snake in my room.

My parents always told me I was too trusting, too eager to see the good in people.

They were right.

Brianna was meticulously copying my "clean girl" makeup, the one I' d perfected from a TikTok tutorial.

She' d even bought the same drugstore dupes I' d once pointed out as affordable alternatives for her.

Back then, I thought I was being helpful.

Now, I saw it as her studying me, cataloging me.

"Love that look on you," I said, my voice surprisingly steady.

Brianna preened. "Thanks! Just trying something new."

Liar.

I remembered her Instagram, captions almost identical to mine, her poses mimicking photos I' d taken weeks before.

The subtle digs, the way she' d imply I was the one copying her when she wore her fast-fashion knock-offs of my designer pieces.

She' d played the victim so well, isolating me.

Even Liam, the hockey captain I actually liked, had started looking at me differently after Brianna' s whispered manipulations.

No more.

The kindness was gone, burned away in the hospital bed I now only remembered.

A new resolve hardened within me.

This time, Ava Miller wouldn't be a doormat.

This time, I would fight.

A few days later, the package arrived.

My new sneakers, a cult-favorite, limited edition. Four figures.

I' d pre-ordered them months ago, a little treat for myself.

I unboxed them in the room, the smell of expensive leather filling the small space.

Brianna' s eyes, predictably, latched onto them.

The next morning, she walked in from class, a triumphant smirk on her face.

She was wearing them.

Or, a version of them.

The shape was slightly off, the material looked stiff, the logo a little too bright.

A blatant, cheap knock-off. She' d paired them with a new outfit, also a poor imitation of one of my recent ensembles.

This was her pattern. Steal my style, then act like she was the trendsetter.

In my previous life, I would have said nothing, or maybe awkwardly complimented her, feeling a knot of discomfort in my stomach.

Not this Ava.

"Oh, Bri," I said, my voice loud enough for Chloe, our suitemate, to hear from her room down the hall.

Brianna beamed, clearly expecting praise. "You like?"

I looked down at her feet, then at my identical, authentic pair peeking out from under my desk.

"Interesting choice," I said, my tone dripping with false sweetness. "Those dupes are getting pretty bold, aren't they?"

Brianna' s smile faltered. "Dupes? What are you talking about? These are new."

"Are they?" I picked up one of my sneakers. "Mine just arrived too. Cost a fortune, these authentics. You know, the real ones? Over a grand. Quality really makes a difference, doesn't it?"

I let my gaze linger on the puckered stitching of her fake shoe.

Her face flushed a dark red.

Chloe poked her head out of her room, curious.

"It's just," I continued, "I'd hate for you to get called out. Some people are real sticklers for authenticity."

Brianna' s eyes welled up. "That's so mean, Ava! Why are you always trying to make me feel bad?"

She sniffled, turning to Chloe. "See? She' s always like this. Just because she can afford expensive things, she thinks she can look down on everyone."

Chloe rushed to Brianna' s side, patting her shoulder. "Ava, that wasn't very nice."

"Nice?" I laughed, a cold, sharp sound. "Is it nice to constantly copy someone and then pretend you're the original? Is it nice to wear cheap knock-offs and try to pass them off as the real deal?"

Brianna burst into full-blown sobs. "I just liked them! You' re such a bully!"

She grabbed her bag and ran out of the suite, Chloe glaring at me before following her.

Perfect.

Let her run to Dean Albright.

This was just the beginning.