Roommate from Hell ...My roommate sucks...I can't believe I actually live with this guy. I've read them, I've noded them; laughed, rolled my eyes. This is not that. This is something entirely beyond.

This is about my roommate, but the fact that she lives with me is almost incidental.
I know I've already mentioned that we don't talk at all. And it may have been partly my fault to begin with. Scared stiff of her, I avoided unnecessary contact, managed to live near and around but not with her. And she, me. Possibly for the same reasons, although I fail to see how a self-posessed 24 year old would be intimidated by me. What I cannot fathom is how it got this far:

The four of us flatmates sitting in the kitchen, each doing our own thing when Pearl asked a question, tossed it out to the room at large:
'Anyone know what day of the week Yom Kippur turns out on this year?'
Having consulted my own calendar about 1 hour prior, I said:
'Monday'
She repeated her question as though I hadn't spoken. I went all still, wondering if someone else would answer, if anyone else actually knew offhand. Hannah got up to check the calendar. A slow crawling sensation crept up my neck, I can't say whether it was a flush or myself turning white.
'Monday', she said.
'Thanks'
I hopped off my perch on the file cabinet and silently went down the hall to my bedroom.

I did not cry. What good would that do?
I tore up some paper. Threw my shoes across the room. Then some books. I ripped open a bag of M&Ms, and crammed the whole thing down my throat. I went out back and screamed.

I pictured in vivid color the death I would bestow on the bitch:
Fist through her fucking face.
Black boot holding her legs pinned to the ground.
Pain, I wanted her to feel pain the way I had. And I couldn't think of any way to make her hurt enough. Not that my imagined violence wouldn't hurt, but how can you compare physical pain to this other, sharper, inexplicable hurt?

I know that turnabout would not work over here. No matter how much I think of hurting her, I like to think I would never be able to bring myselft to do it. I could never even ignore someone talking to me, so blatantly, cruelly and persistently. I ignore her presence because she makes it easy. And I have no need nor opportunity to ignore her voice, because there is never anything addressed my way.

How has it come to this, two people living side by side, trying to hurt each other? I rack my brains, struggling to recall if I could have done something to make it more than indifference, into this THING that vibrates between us. I can't.

This rage scares me.

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