The dorm was extremely quiet. Even a small squeak sounded very loud.
I sat up from my bed and turned on the night light. Then, I watched someone slowly draw the divider curtain around my bed.
Through the small gap, I met her gaze.
It was my roommate, Jane Smith.
She saw that I had noticed her, so she drew the curtains completely.
“I heard you tossing and turning, so I thought that you were secretly studying behind our backs!”
Right after I heard that familiar phrase, I finally believed that I was reliving this day.
The last time I saw her peeking, I screamed from fear, and she explained herself in the same way.
She even said, “I’m just concerned about you. See, you’re still turning on the night light at 2 a.m. You’re hurting your eyes, or worse, ruining your health!”
However, I had nightmares the entire night. The next day, my other roommates reminded me not to disturb them at night.
I wanted to explain myself, but Jane lied to the others. She would claim to care for me and enjoy spending time with me.
After that, I realized whenever it looked like I was studying, she would interrupt me.
This was because she would get anxious if others were better than her. Yet, she was not willing to work hard.
I almost went insane. I feared how others would perceive me, but I had no money to rent a place alone. I could only request for a room change from the counsellor.
However, the counsellor rejected my request. “Why are you being such a bother? Who would have so much free time to observe your every move?”
In the end, I failed to secure a postgraduate position due to my poor mental health. After a few years of working, I was still a junior employee. Meanwhile, Jane studied abroad and became a supervisor when she returned.
She told everyone in the company, “Rue Anderson and I knew each other from college. She was such a competitive person back then, so she must be the same now!”
My seniors at work heard that and took advantage of me. They gave me a lot of tasks, and I became incredibly sleep-deprived. As a result, I passed away from being overworked.
Seeing that I was not replying, Jane glanced over at my bed. “You’ve already sat up. Don’t tell me you’re preparing to study?”
I stared at her expressionlessly.
“If I said yes, would you feel better about it?”
She smiled sheepishly and climbed down the bunk bed’s ladder.
I took out my phone and recorded a five-minute clip of me flipping the pages of a book. Then, I placed my phone on my bedside and played the recording on repeat for the entire night.
