Roommate Arrangement

Ice Cream Tastes Like Heartbreak

Jade

I'm on my second pint of Ben and Jerry's. The first one was cookie dough; this one is straight vanilla. Leigh's having dinner at Perrie's parents' house tonight. Perrie is supposed to be there if she's back from her trip. Leigh offered to fake being sick and stay here with me in a show of solidarity, but I wanted her to report back. I also want to know if that slut Brittany is there with her. I also may have asked Leigh to put a hefty dose of laxative in her food if she is. Unfortunately, Leigh refused the last part. I still slipped it in her purse in case she changed her mind.

At seven I get my first message from Leigh:

'Whoreface is here. Dressed like a whore as usual. Perrie is not.'

Forty-five minutes later I get another one:

'Perrie arrived. Whoreface is whoring all over her. I found the laxatives in my purse. I might slip them into her coffee.'

The ice cream suddenly isn't sitting well. I wait to hear back from her again, but after half an hour I cave and send her one:

'Is she her date?'

It takes a few minutes for her to reply.

'I think so. ☹️'

I can't believe less than a week ago we were having sex on every damn surface in her condo. I should've stuck to my seven-date rule. Living at her place ruined everything.

My phone pings again. It's Leigh again.

'We were wrong.'

When I send one back asking for clarification and get nothing in response, I frantically type fifty new one-word messages, hoping the constant string of texts will prompt her to reply in order to shut me up. She replies:

'About Perrie. You'll understand soon.'

As if that's helpful. It's just as cryptic. The rest of my messages go unanswered. I think I'm on the verge of a panic attack when there's a knock on the door, followed by the sound of the key turning in the lock. It's not even ten. I'm surprised dinner is over already. Rich-people dinner parties usually last until midnight, with the business component of the evening taking place after food and drinks have been consumed. Which seems rather backward to me. Maybe Leigh left early to be with me. Maybe she has news. My stomach flips and I reclaim my ice cream in preparation for food solace.

Except it's not Leigh who walks through the door of the apartment. It's Perrie.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" I bark.

Perrie looks me over. I resist the urge to rush to the bathroom and make myself more presentable. I'm pretty sure I look awful. My hair is pulled into a haphazard bun and I'm wearing my comfy pajamas. And no bra.

She crosses the room, looking intense. And hot. Damn her.

"We need to talk."

I clutch the couch cushion, so I don't launch an attack. "There's nothing to talk about."

"I'm going to disagree. I think there's actually a lot to talk about."

"What would you like to start with? Your date with Brittany the slutface? How excited she is to pick up where you left off? Were you playing us both the entire time?"

She holds up her hands. "I wasn't playing anyone."

"No? How many times did she call while you were in London? Did you ask her to get naked on video chat? Did you talk to her about her panties?"

"I don't actually think she owns panties," she mumbles.

My mouth drops open and I hurl the closest throwable thing at her, which just happens to be a pillow, so unfortunately it does no damage. "How classless are you that you'd fuck her while I'm living in your goddamn condo?"