My Hot Roommate

Liam Hartley │Chapter 4 │

            AFTER THE LASTEST of all last on Mrs Hartley’s eleven rules, finally, with a grasp of a long deep breath in the open fresh air, with again a tiny amount of feeling of joy inside me, I, alongside the dorm supervisor, stood in front of the wide polished two steps concrete of the four-storey and four-doored, red-bricked enormous building. The blissfulness I currently have has buried my outrage mood. This dormitory is not a dormitory to me. It is fascinating at it is when I first saw it from afar.

            I wonder how much my parents paid for this. I bet it cost them high.

            But, when Mrs Hartley starts to talk again, my sense of great displeasure come higher than the cost of one bed for mine when I hear her few mouth-agaping utterly annoying words.

            “I advise you to check this campus’s website, and under Dormitories, read the guidelines regarding the rules I had just said. Any questions you may have will answer there.”

            She looks at me. Can’t she stop herself from making that creepy-happy smile all the time? She wears it every single end of her riling words. Succeeding again to annoy me, she takes the steps of the porch. I can hear the clanking of her heels while I stand at my last spot, enraging.

            I mean, why not just tell me that those absolute pointless rules are written and uploaded on the internet, instead of wasting a lot of words, discussing all of it, which I, at some of it, will never follow? If she got nothing else to say, then talk never. I really cannot believe this woman. Would she actually care if I told her that she talks a little too much about untalkative things?

            But I cannot blame her. She’s the dorm supervisor. It’s her choice to tell the dorm rules verbally or in whatever ways possible. Anyhow, I follow her from the porch to the doorsteps.

            As I am arriving at her, she knocks thrice on the fourth white oak door of the building, adding with those sound of knocks her high-pitched voice after clearing her throat, “Boys? The supervisor wish to be inside at this moment. Wear roughly formal as I have a company.”

            Standing beside her, I, too, am waiting patiently for the door to open. And it did after a short second. I am never more astonished inside. It shows a family size living room but designed specifically for men only. I admire the posters and other designs.

            There are three men on the door, another five on the sofa, and two sitting on the stairs. All of them are already dressed, ready to go out and get to their classes. It seems like I’ll get a hang with these guys after a couple of days. I thought so. When the door was open, Mrs Hartley went inside. And so I did. The atmosphere inside is as hot as outside. Literally hot.

            “Mrs Hartley,” one of the men on the couch stands up, looking at us, “Your s – ”

            Suddenly, while the man is not through to what he is saying, Mrs Hartley raises her right palm on her shoulder level, retorting, “Hush now, Gregory. I’ll do the talking first.”

            The man, who Mrs Hartley address as Gregory, who just felt awkward for being silenced of a sudden, sits back.

            “Now,” I see this woman’s face forms another creepy-happy smile in front of them. “This is your new dormmate, Louie Coleman. He’s a transferee student and will be joining us on this campus until senior year.”

            Mrs Hartley introduces me with her hands on my shoulders. My aching fingers on my luggage’s handle wants to set her hands off on me. It is giving me a chill of physical discomfort. As she smiles at me, I give it back to her and does the same thing to the others with a kind nod. What Neanderthals they really are.

            My cramp eyes run across to the two men sitting at the stairs. I admire their behaviour. They were not listening nor even bothered by me or the supervisor’s voice. They continue their attention on the phone that they are sharing, chortling under their own breath. Not a minute later, one of those on the door walks and stops at Mrs Hartley’s other side, asking in a worried voice.

            “But, ma’am, didn’t we ran out of bed already?”

            “Almost certainly, or did we really, Anthony?” the dorm supervisor takes a couple of steps forward and turns around at us with her scary looks. Once I get another immediate shock, just like she did when I answered her question she gave to my parents, I swear, I can hurt someone in no time. It is not only me who jumps in horror. Anthony and the rest of the listeners are with me.

“Pick one either of the two. I won’t mind. Because I suppose my son’s room has a spare bed to share. After all, Louie’s parents paid equally as your parents did for this dormitory. He will have the space.”

            “I don’t mean to be rude, ma’am, but wouldn’t it be better if you choose a more suitable room from other sections? No matter how I look at it, Liam will not be the perfect roommate for him.”

            Mrs  Hartley giggles at the other man’s reply, replying, “I’m aware of it. Listen, I am the dormitory supervisor, and so I know what sections of dormitories are already full and not yet. It happens that the throb section has only one free bed among the sophomore’s dorm sections. What choice do I have than putting him as my son’s roommate? I can’t mix him with the other year levels. You know the rules, I presume.”

            “I guess the new guy had no choice.”

            I am not sure who exactly said it, but it left me a little terror question which cannot be answered by anyone, why?

            “He said he’s fine with any room I please. It is my pleasure for him to be my son’s roommate. Now I know what my son’s behaviour is. I will not let Louie make a report just like any other of his ex-roommates.”

            No one talks nor even move a single leg or fingers on their hands. All are still, surrounded by silent air. Their present behaviours have left me, once more, that short unanswerable question, why?

            Though there is an answer, it is unanswerable because I cannot and will not ask them. Let me know and discover whatever. Is it bad? Will it sums up to my newly stacked anger that I had just stacked starting this morning? I hope it isn’t.

            After the silence, Mrs Hartley moves his feet in the directions of the stairs. Everyone is looking at me – large eyes and partially opened-mouth. I am starting to think if there is a speck of dirt or something on my face. With the strong grips on my heavy bags, I follow her. Those halfwit’s eyes even follow me. I can feel my burning irritation and nervousness blends together. Plus, the hot temperature inside.

            When we reach the stair, the dorm supervisor speaks to the two men, “Gabriel, Dylan, use the couches, please. Stairs are for feet, not for your butts.”

            I do not know who is Gabriel and Dylan between them two, but one of them, who wears an oval eyeglasses, stands up when Mrs Harley open her mouth and says to her, “I’, We’re sorry, ma’am.” And they start to move to the couches.

            I stare at them.

            They catch my eyes.

            I look away.

            Embarrassment.

            We begin to take the stairs. After a few steps up, my boring eyes sights an elevator. I am about to gasp at Mrs Hartley to take the elevator instead of the stairs, but my eyes see first the yellow warning sign on its front doors. It is probably broken or under construction.

            On the second floor, I am greeted by a much smaller living room than the one below and, again, an elevator having the same yellow warning sign.

            The third floor is nothing different from the second floor. I am now exhausted walking to these long brown stairs. Not to mention the heavy loads that I have got in my hands. What cretinism had to get to imbeciles that they had to broke and have to put warning signs on every stupid elevator door during the year of pointless classes?

            These are idiocy. My thoughts are.

            I cannot handle much more of this.

            After a long way non-stop trip from hell to above, we make it to the fourth and last floor of this sleeping establishment. Like the floors below, this floor consists of a living room at the centre, a busted elevator on the other side, and four white doors – two each of every right and left side of the room.

            We walk across the couches. I am flatter and aghast that the air is silent – a symbol of peace. Mrs Hartley and I, who is following her lead, stops at the door near the elevator. The very first thing I catch my sight of is the name of my I’m-certain roommate, written in rectangular size cardboard with bold capitalized characters attached to my eye level of the door.

            LIAM HARTLEY

            Mrs Hartley opens a door without a knock. I, of course, immediately look for the bed while still standing at the door. But there is none. None other than two white doors, two brown desks, two brown drawers, hanging shelves, one long sofa, and mess. A lot of eye-miffing, detestable messes. Everywhere!

            “What a pig!”

            I close my eyes in a second while my shoulder nearly touches my ears, flabbergasted when Mrs Hartley bursts into a loud, echoing scream. My outraging soul separates from my healthy physical body for a second. Now, I can feel my heart beating fast and can clearly see Mrs Hartley’s eyes growing bigger as she moves her head in every corner of the room.

            The silence a little while ago, before we entered this room, that I thought was a symbol of peace, is not evidently a symbol of peace. I cannot have a roommate like this.

            I cannot believe that that bedraggled Liam is the son of this polka-dotted woman. They are very much unalike if someone asks me.

            When we have enough seeing of this woman’s son’s unpalatable mess, Mrs Hartley, once again, makes that blasting yell, saying, “Liam, you little bounder man! What craziness were you thinking to have this mess?!”

            “Mom? Is that you shouting?”

            I hear Liam’s voice from one of the doors inside. It is distinctive. I am not quite sure, but I think he is in the bathroom. I have, of course, no guts to talk. Though I fall into this silence, I’m angry with this Liam man.

            “Who else would it be?! What kind of room this is?! Liam, for the fourteenth time, this is not your homeroom but your dorm room!”

            “Hey, mom! While you’re inside, can you pass me my towel?”

            That Liam seems like he is not paying attention to what his mother, this woman beside me, is saying. He is not just an untidy one, but also an irreverence one. Really, my eyes and ears join my fingers in aching.

            “Don’t you dare call me your mom! Clean this mess up this instant! You have a new roommate! Have shame, mister! AND GET YOUR OWN STUPID TOWEL!”

            I did never expect that she would raise her voice in the end. Then, without an  answer from Liam, who is currently in the bathroom, waiting for someone to give him his I’m-sure stinky towel,  Mrs Hartley turns to me, speaking in medium anger yet kindly;

            “I’m sorry, honey, that you’ll have to see this all. It’s just today. Tomorrow, everything will turn back, okay? That door over there is where your bed is. Hurry along now. Classes are expected at 9:00 this morning.”

            I nod with a fake smile behind the extreme anger I am feeling. Great, just because I told her that I could fit into anything, it does not practically means that I can be with a roommate like this! I mean, this is not who I am in my room. He was right – the one who said that Liam is not a perfect roommate for me. I would rather sleep outside.

            But what else other choices do I have? According to the supervisor, this is the last room with a bed to share. I really, and now I am greedy, to find a way to cope with the word “cope”. It is becoming hard the longer I stay here.

            “Clean yourself, and get to your first class. Arrange your things when you have a vacant time. I’ll be going now.”

            And again, I nod at her.

            “What!” that Liam shouts from the bathroom.

            “WHATEVER!”

            She storms out of the room. And now, I’m all alone – not literally. I have me, my roommate and a ton of unpleasing garbage.

            Dejection, revulsion, vexation, indignation.

            As I turn my head everywhere, I, again, sees the two desks. One has a computer on top, while the other, obviously for me, has a bunch of snack plastics and unwashed shirts.

            Without examining more of this dirty space, I walk towards the door that Mrs Hartley just pointed a little while ago. The first thing is, the handle is sticky. Not minding it seriously, I open the door, and there I see the biggest worst.

            The room is large enough – two beds on each side’s corner, a few inches from the end of each bed are two more drawers and built-in closets. A huge glass window is at the centre of the wall between the two beds. The sun’s bright came enough inside to light, and for me to see, more of Liam’s filthiness in his room. Or should I say our room?

            Beds, which I have been craving while on the drive, lacks literal proper hygiene. A black blanket, a laptop, two pillows, some old used clothes, and a few crumpled tissues disarray on top of the bed. Comparing it to the other bed, which has about nine underwear that I think is used already and two or three more clothes, gives me the thought that the bed with a laptop is Liam’s. This part of the room is much stinkier. The smell of men’s perfume and the fetid cloth and trash combines altogether in this airtight room. What a success to destroy my sense of smell!

            I march closer to the other bed, hoping those underwears are clean. I do not want to touch a stranger’s underpants. They seems, well, used. Complete disgust arises from my insides. And if my presumptions are correct, I will not, and no chance, be sleeping this bed until it gets another new and clean sheets.

            As I set my bags, finally, on the floor, I hear an incoming voice.

            “…right behind this door. What kind of mother is she? It’s just a towel.”

            The door opens again which makes me suddenly turn around to face it. And Liam appears. Honestly, I do not know if it is indeed Liam. I mean, we have not met yet, so I have no idea how his face looks. But a man appears on the door, naked – completely naked, from foot until head. In front of me, inches away!

            He is soaking in water. I take and get a chance to see his trim build body – he is not too muscular. We have the same shape and built of our muscles. But he does not have any body hair, even in his pubes. It takes less than a second for my eyes to reach his face.

            Droplets of water are streaming down to his face. Surprised for seeing me, he makes very firm eye contact, and ask me rudely, “Who the hell are you? What the s**t are you doing here?”

            I look away – feeling half scared and half raging. I have never actually and frontally seen an undressed man before. What bad lucks awaits me more? The seconds after, I did not hesitate to ask him back, “Didn’t you heard what your mother told you?”

            “What is it?” he remains standing on the door, leaning his sides and rubs his wet hair.

            Again, I look at anything except to him. “Do you think it’s better to have your clothes on first?”

            “Never seen a c**k before?”

            He confidently strolls to his bed like he owns the whole room, without covering his private part, after he takes his towel from one of the hooks on the door. His buttocks bounces every each of his steps. And I am botheringly disturb by this guy. And even to the scent of this room! I cannot have a roommate like him, roaming around with no clothes! What is he? A sexy beggar? Negligible piece of penniless moron? Get dress!

            Of course, I have seen a c**k before! How does he see me? An innocent woman? No c**k to see every morning? I, myself, am born with it, dimwit. While my running rages fills my head, I try hard to remain calm, watching him dress himself. I did not, and no plans to do so, answer his last question. Instead, when he is about to cover his top, done with his pants, I reply as kindly as I can, “If you haven’t heard your mother before, she says I’m your new roommate. My name’s Louie.”

            Loathing the idea to introduce myself, I have no idea what to say next. I have mixed feelings – anger on top.

            “I guess you know my name already, did you? Sorry that you have to see this room like this. I wasn’t informed I’m getting a new roommate,” he takes the underwear and the few clothes on the other bed and throws them on his’s.

            Then, without talking to me, after I say no words in return, he takes and put his laptop inside his backpack, wears his shoes, and he left.