Generic selectors
Exact matches only
Search in title
Search in content
Search in posts
Search in pages

The Perfect Roommate by Minka Kent Read Online (FREE)



I said I had a migraine.

It’s a perfectly infallible excuse. No one can deny that I have one. They can’t see it. Can’t test for it.

The moment I got home this afternoon, I barricaded myself in my room and locked the door. When I heard Lauren’s voice an hour later, I slipped my earbuds in my ears and played my music. Bowie, Queen, Lynryd Skynrd. None of this Esthero, Tosca bullshit.

When she texted me about going to Wellman’s, I told her I had a migraine. She replied with some emojis. A sad face. And a blue heart. Ten minutes later she texted that she hoped I felt better, that they’d miss me, and that she was going to Tessa’s to get ready.

She also asked if I needed anything. Chicken soup. Hot tea.

This isn’t a fucking sinus infection.

I didn’t reply.

Maybe I should have. But technically someone with a migraine wouldn’t be on their phone. The lights are too bright or something.

Turning my music down, I wait for her to leave, listening for the gentle slam of the front door and the soft purr of her Lexus engine. A minute later, I watch her back out of the driveway, texting on her phone and nearly hitting our mailbox.

Funny how before I didn’t mind her texting on her phone. Now it annoys me. I think it makes her look careless, selfish.

As does sleeping with a married man.

Granted, I don’t know if they’re having sex, but a dashing thirty-something professor and a pretty little coed like Lauren wouldn’t be risking their academic careers for blow jobs and titty fucks.

And furthermore, she’s a liar. A dirty, dirty liar.

And I fucking hate liars.

Even if she’s lying by omission, it’s still lying.

It’s insulting, offensive.

Did my friendship mean nothing to her?

She could ramble on and on about the details of her menstrual cycle and the particulars of her and Thayer’s robust sex life, but she couldn’t share this?

Does Tessa know? Does Thayer? Is that why he’s so possessive of her? Because he knows he can’t trust her? Does everyone else know except for me?

I stop pacing the apartment, but only for a moment. Glancing at my hands, I notice I’ve chewed my nails to the quick, my gel manicure demolished.


My stomach growls, but I couldn’t eat if I tried. It would all come up, I’m sure. Instead, I fix myself some hot tea, only the second I reach for one of Lauren’s mint jade green tea sachets, I stop myself.

I need to separate myself from her. I need to un-adopt all the things that have made me into a knock-off version of the very kind of person I never wanted to be.

Dumping the hot water in the sink and the tea sachet in the trash, I pour myself a glass of tap water—lead levels be damned—and march straight to her room.

I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I’ll know it when I see it.