Roommaid

by Sariah Wilson

To be fair, the camera didn’t just love him; it also brought him flowers every day for a month, sang him ballads, and wanted to meet his parents. I kind of wanted to do that, too.

I knew to never sign anything without having a lawyer look at it first, and since I couldn’t afford a lawyer, a handshake and his word were good enough.

“A cat?” he scoffed. “Never. I’m not bringing home some sociopath intent on luring you into a false sense of security before they eat your face.”

“When I love something, I don’t do it halfway.”

I hated that they all made me feel this way. Like I was a mouse trying to roar. That I was too small and inconsequential for anyone to take seriously. It had been that way my whole life.

A girl could get used to a guy who made her feel like she could take over the world.

By making me feel like I was never good enough for him, he had ensured that I spent all my time trying to change his mind.

I pointed at the Christmas tree. “You didn’t open your presents.” “It wasn’t Christmas without you.”

“I was just thinking that you smelled like all of my tomorrows. My future. My wife.”