Rival Roommates

12 ☁︎

I have school tomorrow. Kill me now.
—

Valentina
I don't even remember how I got home last night, I'm pretty sure Raizel was the DD, but I have no memory of her taking us home, that's how drunk I got. Not surprising, but for once, I felt a bit embarrassed that Jordan's words were true. It's not like I was a crazy alcoholic, but the times I did drink it seemed I couldn't stop myself. My head throbs with pain, like my usual killer hangovers, and I take an aspirin in hopes that it'll die down in a few hours.

When I get up, the sight in the mirror almost scares me to death, my mascara smudged across my face and my hair all dishevelled makes me look like a horror movie ghost. I peel the surprisingly untarnished white dress off and slip into the shower. Once I'm done, I change into my uniform, ditching the blazer and pulling on a sweatshirt as the mornings tend to get chillier. I don't know what fell from heaven and landed in our kitchen, but it smells godly in there, so I quickly finish doing my hair and makeup, and saunter out of my room.

My eyes peak in interest when they catch the back of Jordan expertly flipping something in a pan, shirtless (I'm beginning to think he doesn't own any shirts). But then my mood deflated when I remember who it is, and I grumble something unintelligible as I pour my glass of OJ, side glancing him bitterly. He doesn't even look at me as he places his food on a plate, sliding it across the counter in front of his seat. I gulp down the refreshing juice, replenishing the dry taste in my mouth, most likely from the sight of him shirtless, because fuckk me I'm a slut for back muscles.

I feel his chest lightly brush against my back as I wash my glass, his body standing right behind mine, his arm reaching for the cupboard right above my head, caging me in. My breathing turns shallow and he fiddles around with the utensils, searching for the right one. My back is arched slightly from leaning in towards the sink, my ass slightly touching his thigh.

"You gonna wash that glass then?" He asks and I notice I've stopped moving because of his proximity. I turn my head to the side to glare at me, finding his head closer to my neck than I expected, tilted down towards mine, his eyebrow raised with a small smirk on his lips. Dickhead knows what he's doing.

"Would be easier if you understood boundaries." I snap back, and he raises his arms in surrender, feigning innocence as he steps back.

"I was just looking for a knife. My bad if I got you all worked up." I sharpen my glare at his words and he smiles to himself, shaking his head as he sits by his food and begins digging in.

"Dickhead." I mutter not-so-under-my-breath, placing my glass on the rack as I roll my eyes at him.

"What?" He asks, furrowing his brows in half confusion and anger.

"You heard me." I spit, flipping him off as I storm out the door.

—

I tip my chin back in laughter at what Amelie said, shaking my head as I playfully shove her. She blows me a kiss with her middle finger, grinning to herself like an idiot, and my teacher clears her throat, silencing our class as we shut our mouths and stop laughing. A young and bright teacher, petite and ginger-haired who would most likely be mistaken for a student if it weren't for her lanyard and keys, due to her youthful face and energy.

"Settle down now, class. Todays activity will be an icebreaker with selected partners as I've recently noticed how segregated this class is." I internally groan at the idea of selected partners, but it excites a small nervous part in me, the best friendships are sometimes made from seating plans.

She goes through the list, naming girls as partners with boys, and the look on some student's faces show how badly they want to leave.

"Reagan and Kyle."