Chapter 2: Roommate
1629 Words
The scratching began at exactly 5:03 a.m.Tony didn’t need a clock, because after three months in the janitor’s closet, he had memorized the rhythms of everything that lived there ,the pipes that groaned awake at 4:40, the flickering fluorescent bulb that buzzed irritably at 4:52, and the faint, persistent scratching behind the rusted cabinet that arrived, unfailingly, at 5:03.
Reliable, unlike people.
Tony opened one eye, staring into the dim gray light.
“Late today,” he muttered.
The scratching stopped.
A beat passed.
Then came a small, offended squeak.
Tony’s lips twitched.
“Relax,” he said softly. “I’m not filing a complaint.”
From behind the cabinet, a rat emerged ,small, gray, and slightly rounder than survival should have allowed. Its whiskers trembled as it rose onto its hind legs, fixing Tony with a look that felt unreasonably judgmental.
This was Roommate, the name had started as a joke, now it felt like a fact.
Roommate had lived in the closet long before Tony claimed it. During the first week, they’d battled for territory,Tony guarding his instant noodles, Roommate executing what could only be described as coordinated theft.
The rat had won more often than not,andTony respected that.
“You’re getting bold,” Tony said, pushing himself upright on the thin mattress.
Roommate squeaked again,sharp, indignant.There was attitude in it.
Tony rubbed the sleep from his eyes and reached into his bag. His fingers found half a stale bread roll from yesterday.
Breakfast.
He tore off a small piece and tossed it toward the cabinet.
Roommate sniffed it cautiously.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Tony said. “You’re eating better than I am.”
The rat snatched the bread and retreated halfway, pausing to nibble.
Tony watched him for a moment, then leaned back against the cold wall.
The closet held the night’s chill. The cracked concrete floor radiated it upward, while the faint sting of bleach mingled with damp cardboard and rusted metal.
It wasn’t much,but atleast it was shelter.
And Tony had long since stopped expecting for more.
Above him, the fluorescent bulb buzzed unevenly.
It flickered twice.
Tony stared at it.
“Please don’t die,” he said under his breath.
The buzzing grew louder, almost defiant.
He definitely took that as a no.
****
He dressed in silence.
His black hoodie once deep enough to swallow light had faded into uneven charcoal. The sleeves frayed at the wrists. His jeans were patched at both knees, the stitching careful enough to pass as intentional from a distance.
His sneakers looked like they had survived something violent and personal in the mau mau rebellion world war 4.
Tony studied them.
“Still holding on?”
They offered no reply.
That seemed fair.
At the small sink in the corner, he splashed water onto his face. The tap sputtered in protest before releasing a thin stream of icy water.
Good.
The cold helped.
It sharpened him.
When he looked up into the cracked mirror, the face staring back always caught him slightly off guard.
Not because it was unfamiliar,but because it kept changing.
Hollowed a little more each day.
Sharpened by something that didn’t belong on an eighteen-year-old.
Most boys his age still carried softness—unfinished edges, traces of childhood lingering in their features.
Tony looked like life had carved straight through that stage.
He picked up his comb.
four teeth were missing.
Still usable.
Barely.
“Classy,” he murmured.
From the corner, Roommate squeaked.
“Don’t judge me.”
****
Eastbridge University glowed beneath the early morning sun.
Golden light spilled across red-brick buildings and polished stone pathways. Tall maple trees lined the campus, their leaves catching light like something out of a carefully curated dream.
Everything about the place whispered prestige.
Wealth.
Expectation.
It was a place where futures were shaped over expensive coffee and inherited connections.
Tony walked through it carrying an empty bottle sack folded neatly inside his bag.
The irony wasn’t lost on him.
He kept his head down.
That usually worked.
Usually.
“Hey! Kid!”
The voice cut sharply through the morning air.
Tony stopped.
Security.
Of course.
Officer Barnes approached with his usual expression part suspicion, part personal offense, as though Tony’s existence had disrupted something sacred.
Barnes was large in every sense. Broad shoulders, thick arms, a stomach straining against his uniform. His badge sat crooked on his chest, somehow perfectly matching his disposition.
He pointed.
“ID.”
Tony exhaled quietly.
“Morning to you too.”
“ID,” Barnes repeated.
Tony handed it over.
Barnes examined it, then looked at Tony, then back at the card.
“No way.”
Tony waited.
“You’re eighteen?”
“That’s generally how years work,” Tony said. “They pass.”
Barnes frowned.
“Don’t get smart.”
“Can’t afford smart. Tuition already covers that.”
A nearby student let out a stifled laugh.
Barnes shot Tony a glare.
“You trying to be funny?”
“Not actively,” Tony replied. “It just happens sometimes.”
Barnes studied him again, narrowing his eyes.
“You look fourteen.”
Tony shrugged faintly.
“Malnutrition,” he said. “Wouldn’t recommend it.”
A couple of students laughed openly now.
Barnes didn’t.
He thrust the ID back.
“What’re you doing out here this early?”
“Walking.”
“Why?”
Tony glanced around.
“Long-term plan to reach class.”
For a brief moment, Barnes looked like he might escalate detain him for something vague, undefined, but satisfying.
Then he huffed.
“Move along.”
Tony nodded.
“Thrilling conversation. Same time tomorrow?”
Barnes muttered something under his breath.
Tony walked on.
Behind him, someone laughed.
That made it worth it.
****
Advanced Economics.
The irony cut deeper than usual.
Tony studied economics because it made sense.
Markets. Systems. Patterns.
Invisible structures that governed everything.
He liked understanding movement how things shifted, how power flowed.
Mostly because he’d spent his life being crushed beneath forces he couldn’t see.
The lecture hall was already filling when he arrived.
Rows of polished seats curved toward a sleek stage, screens gleaming, everything precise and expensive.
Tony slipped into the last row.
His seat.
Safe.
Invisible.
Almost immediately, the whispers began.
“Garbage Boy.”
“He’s early today.”
“Probably finished scavenging.”
Soft laughter followed.
Tony ignored them.
Routine was armor.
He unpacked his notebook.
Focused.
Then someone sat beside him.
Tony glanced sideways.
A girl.
Petite. Sharp eyed. Dark hair pulled into a clean ponytail. Round glasses framed a gaze that missed very little. Her clothes were simple cream sweater, black slacks. No effort to impress.
Which, in a place like this, was its own statement.
She noticed him looking.
“Taken?” she asked.
Tony blinked.
“The seat?”
She nodded.
“No.”
“Good.”
She settled in, opening her laptop with efficient precision.
After a moment, she leaned slightly closer.
“Your conversation with Barnes is improving.”
Tony looked at her.
“You watched?”
“Hard not to. You had an audience.”
“Was I funny?”
She considered.
“Not enough to justify that haircut.”
Tony stared.
Then unexpectedly—laughed.
A real one.
Short. Unfiltered.
She smirked.
“There it is. You’re capable.”
“Who are you?”
“Mei.”
She extended her hand.
Tony hesitated, then shook it.
Her grip was firm.
Confident.
Normal.
It felt unfamiliar.
“Tony.”
“I know.”
Of course she did.
Everyone did.
The lecture began before anything else could be said.
Professor Holloway entered precisely on time, immaculate in his tailored suit, his presence sharp enough to command silence.
Tony respected his mind.
He disliked everything else.
As the lecture unfolded, Tony wrote quickly, absorbing everything.
Numbers behaved.
People didn’t.
Beside him, Mei typed with quiet efficiency.
At one point, she glanced at his notebook.
Raised an eyebrow.
“Your handwriting is annoyingly good.”
Tony didn’t look up.
“Malnutrition. Saves energy for penmanship.”
She nearly laughed aloud.
****
Later, walking back to the closet, Tony found himself thinking about her.
Which was inconvenient.
People complicated things.
Still She hadn’t mocked him.
Hadn’t pitied him.
Just… talked.
It felt wrong.
Suspicious.
****
That evening, Tony sat cross legged on his mattress, eating instant noodles.
Roommate watched from the shadows.
Judging.
Tony lifted a noodle.
“What?”
A squeak.
“You want some?”
Another.
Tony sighed.
“You contribute nothing to this household.”
He dropped a noodle.
Roommate snatched it instantly.
“Freeloader.”
No response.
As expected.
Tony reached into his notebook and pulled out a worn photograph.
The edges had softened with time.
The image had faded.
A man. A woman. A small boy between them.
His mother smiling.
His father steady, quiet strength in his eyes.
Tony stared at it.
Fragments surfaced.
Laughter.
Warm hands.
Rain.
Then
Fire.
Sirens.
Hands pulling him away.
After that…
Nothing clear.
Only silence.
He traced the edge of the photo.
“Who were you?” he whispered.
No answer came.
Only the faint scratching behind the cabinet.
Life continuing.
Unbothered.
He slid the photo back and lay down.
The light buzzed overhead.
Roommate settled into its corner.
The cold crept in.
His stomach remained half-empty.
Tomorrow waited, heavy and certain.
And yet—
As sleep pulled at him, Tony thought of Mei.
Of laughter that wasn’t cruel.
Of something simple.
Something normal.
Something rare.
Roommate squeaked softly.
Tony smiled into the darkness.
“Goodnight.”
Another squeak followed.
And for a fleeting moment, in the suffocating quiet of a janitor’s closet hidden beneath polished wealth, it almost sounded like an answer.
- Writer
