Sharing an Apartment, Losing My Place

Before graduation, the five of us decide to rent a four-bedroom apartment together. My older brother, Brandon Wiley, takes the master bedroom with the balcony. My childhood friend, Ricky Sparks, who streams for a living, claims the most soundproof room. My boyfriend, Gerard Albon, says he's swamped with work and needs a room that doubles as an office. And the bedroom with the best natural light goes to my best friend, Joan Corbet. No one asks where I'm supposed to sleep. Joan offers to share her room with me, but Brandon shuts it down at once. "Joan is a light sleeper." Ricky says, "Cynthia can sleep anywhere. She's been doing it since she was a kid. We can buy a sofa bed for the living room." Gerard nods. "She gets up early anyway, so the living room is perfect. She can make breakfast for everyone." They remember that Joan is a light sleeper. They forget why I've had to learn to sleep anywhere. When I was 17 years old, Brandon had to repeat a year and needed a quiet room to study, so I gave up my bedroom and slept in the living room for a whole year. At 19, I stayed up countless nights with Ricky while he streamed. At 20, when Joan couldn't sleep, I held her hand and sat with her until dawn. At 21, when Gerard had an internship in another city, I took a six-hour train ride just to bring him medicine for his fever. For five years, I gave up my bed, my time, and my own needs for them. So of course, they expect me to give in yet again. The rent is 4,000 dollars a month. I have paid the security deposit and agreed to cover half the rent, with the other four splitting the rest. And still, everyone gets a room except me. The real estate agent hands me the lease and asks me to sign as the primary tenant. Brandon urges me to hurry. "Come on. Joan is waiting to pick out the curtains." I take the pen, cross out my name, and hand the lease back. "I'm not renting this place anymore." I'm going to find a place where I have a room of my own. Chapter 1 The real estate agent glanced at the name I'd crossed out. "Ms. Wiley, should I refund the security deposit to the original account?" "Yes," I said. My brother, Brandon Wiley, reached out to stop him. "Wait, hold on." He turned to me. "If you're getting your deposit back, you still need to contribute your share toward the washer and dining table. We haven't bought those yet." That 4,000-dollar security deposit represented six months of savings from my internship. While we were apartment hunting, they all kept saying that since we were living together, we didn't need to keep track of every dollar. I didn't even have a room of my own, yet I was still expected to pay my share. "Refund it to me," I insisted. Brandon's expression darkened. "Cynthia, don't start keeping score over one room." My boyfriend, Gerard Albon, pushed the lease back toward me. "We've already agreed on the rent. What are we supposed to do if you back out now?" "The four of you can split the rent evenly," I said. "That means each of us has to pay an extra 500 dollars a month," my childhood friend, Ricky Sparks, blurted out. "You make the most money. Isn't it only fair that you cover a little more?" I stared at him in disbelief. When Ricky was 19 years old, he couldn't afford the equipment he needed for live streaming. For three months, I ate the cheapest meals in the college cafeteria to scrape together the last 600 dollars he needed. Later, when he earned his first paycheck, he treated everyone to dinner. At the table, my best friend, Joan Corbet, joked that she was Ricky's lucky charm. Ricky raised his glass. "I would've given up a long time ago if Joan hadn't kept me company and chatted with me every day." Not one of them mentioned the 600 dollars or the hours I spent adjusting the lighting. The real estate agent asked again, "So, should I refund the deposit or not?" "Refund it," I repeated. Brandon fought to keep his temper in check. "She's just throwing a tantrum. Don't listen to her." I placed the payment receipt in front of the agent. "I'm the one who paid the deposit. Refund it." The refund came through a few minutes later. Gerard stared at my phone. "Do you really want to make things this tight for everyone right after graduation?" "If you can't afford the rent, find another apartment." "We've already measured the windows for Joan's curtains," Gerard said. "How can we change everything now?" He made it sound perfectly reasonable, as if my needs mattered less than a pair of curtains. Joan tugged at Gerard's sleeve. "Maybe we should give my room to Cynthia." Brandon immediately objected. "You've been having trouble sleeping lately. Don't push yourself." Ricky held up his phone to show me a sofa bed listing. "This one's pretty wide. It's four feet across. We can fold it up during the day, so it won't take up much space." Gerard glanced at it and nodded. "Let's get this one. Cynthia, haven't you always wanted a cat? If you stay in the living room, you'll get to spend more time with it." Just like that, he'd even decided how I was supposed to make peace with being pushed aside. When I was ten years old, my parents renovated our house. They took Brandon to stay at a hotel and sent me to my aunt's place. I sat in the hallway clutching my schoolbag until midnight because my aunt had forgotten to leave me a key. The next morning, Brandon brought me breakfast from the hotel. "You can sleep anywhere anyway," he said. "It's all the same to you." They kept using that line to dismiss my needs for years afterward. Gerard grabbed my hand. "Come furniture shopping with us tonight." "Don't bother," I said coldly. "What?" "I'm not moving in." He stared at me for a few seconds before letting go of my hand. "Fine. We'll talk after you've cooled down." The four of them gathered around the lease again, discussing how to cover the remaining furniture costs. I walked out of the real estate office. There was an email on my phone from two weeks earlier. A company in another city had asked if I was still interested in accepting the position they'd offered me. I'd turned it down because Gerard had said he was staying here. Brandon had insisted that we shouldn't live apart. Ricky had said the five of us had to live together for things to feel complete. Standing on the curb, I reopened the email and typed a reply. "Hi, I'd like to accept the offer after all. I can start on the original date." The response came almost immediately. "Welcome aboard! We look forward to seeing you in three days." I bought a train ticket for the day after tomorrow without telling anyone. Chapter 2 The next afternoon, Gerard sent me a message. "We've moved all your stuff over." When I arrived at the new apartment to collect my things, the four of them were busy unpacking boxes. Gerard had lived off campus before we rented this place, and I'd left three boxes at his apartment. He'd moved them over without ever asking me. A brand-new sofa bed sat in the middle of the living room. It was only four feet wide and had to be folded up during the day, or it would block the balcony. The moment Joan saw me, she ran over and grabbed my hand. "You're finally here! They said you weren't moving in, but I knew you were just saying that because you were upset." Ricky patted the sofa bed. "Come try it out. It cost over 200 dollars." His live streaming equipment was piled on top of it, and opened cardboard boxes littered the floor. My three boxes had been left out on the balcony. The bottom one was already soaked through. "Who put my boxes out here?" I asked, my voice tightening. Brandon was assembling Joan's vanity. "There's no room inside. We just left them there for a bit." "It rained last night," I said. "Isn't it just a bunch of old junk anyway?" he muttered without looking up. I crouched down and opened the box. The cover of my diploma was damp, and the pages of the photo album my grandmother had left me were stuck together. I'd moved four times with that album and had never once let it get wet. Brandon came over, glanced at the damage, and shrugged. "Just dry it out in the sun. It'll be fine. Can you check Joan's bedside lamp first? She says there's something wrong with the switch." I carefully peeled the album pages apart one by one, the ink from the photographs smearing onto my fingers. When I was 15 years old, my grandmother was hospitalized. Brandon was preparing for exams, so I was the only one who visited Grandma every day after school to bring her meals. Before she passed away, she gave me that album and said, "You deserve to have someone looking out for you, too." Now, the album was ruined, and my brother cared more about whether Joan's lamp worked. "Cynthia, this little lamp of yours is so pretty!" Joan called out. I looked up. She was holding my ceramic lamp. Gerard explained, "Joan's bedside lamp is broken, so I let her use it for now." "That lamp was a gift from my grandmother." "She's just borrowing it. It's not like it'll break," Gerard said nonchalantly. "Give it back," I said, staring straight at Joan. Gerard frowned. "I said, put it back." The room fell silent. Joan quickly handed me the lamp. Ricky clicked his tongue. "It's just a cheap lamp. Do you have to make such a fuss?" As I took it, I noticed a chip missing from one corner of the shade. Through the open bedroom door, I spotted the broken piece on Joan's nightstand. Not one of them had planned to tell me. After finishing the vanity, Brandon asked, "What are we having for dinner? Cynthia, why don't you make us something to eat?" "There's nothing in the kitchen," I said. "Then, go to the grocery store and pick some stuff up," he said, dropping a shopping list into our group chat. Joan wanted shrimp, Ricky wanted drinks, and Gerard wanted the short ribs I always made for him. Brandon added one final message. "Remember to get the receipt. We'll split the cost five ways." I carried my three boxes to the front door. Gerard stepped in front of me. "What are you doing now?" "Taking my things." He pressed, "Where are you taking them?" "That's none of your business," I said. His expression hardened. "Cynthia Wiley, we've already tried to meet you halfway. We bought a sofa bed and moved your stuff here. What more do you want?" I glanced at the sofa buried under all the clutter. "Return it. I won't be needing it." Brandon was so angry that he threw his screwdriver down. "If you walk out with your stuff today, don't come back crying later!" I picked up the damp photo album. "Fine." They thought it was a threat, but I'd been waiting years to hear those words. Chapter 3 The next day was the graduation showcase. The campus documentary the five of us had worked on together had been shortlisted for an Outstanding Project award. They called it a five-person collaboration, but in reality, I'd done all the filming, editing, and subtitling. Gerard had written a two-page proposal, Ricky had borrowed a camera, Brandon had driven us to filming locations twice, and Joan had appeared on camera. When it came to listing our names in the credits, Joan's name went first because she was the one presenting the project. Mine came last. Ricky had brushed it off. "As long as we all know who did what, that's what matters." Gerard had tried to persuade me. "Joan doesn't have any internship experience. This award will help her more with her job search." I'd already received a job offer, so my hard work had become just another thing I was expected to give away. The showcase began at 9:00 am. Joan stood onstage, but after just two minutes, she forgot her lines. She turned to look at me as the professors in the audience began to frown. Gerard hurried over and shoved the script into my hands. "Stand behind the curtain and feed her the lines." "Why can't I go up there and present it myself?" I asked. "The names have already been submitted. Switching presenters at the last minute looks bad." "Then, let her handle it herself," I said flatly. Joan's eyes turned red. Brandon immediately glared at me. "Cynthia, she stayed up all night memorizing the script. She's just too nervous. What's the harm in helping her out a little?" In the end, I stood behind the curtain. Every time Joan forgot a line, I prompted her. When the professors asked about our creative process and she couldn't answer, I wrote the responses on paper and passed them to her. When the audience broke into applause, she stood under the spotlight while I remained hidden in the dark. When I was 14 years old, my school held a quiz competition. Joan had a fever, so a teacher asked me to take her place. I won first place. Before the award ceremony, her fever broke, and she rushed over, so Brandon told me to give my spot back to her. He'd said, "You're in the same class anyway. It doesn't matter which one of you accepts the award." Later, her photo went up on the school's Wall of Honor. Everyone knew Joan had won first place. No one knew I'd been the one answering the quiz questions. After the presentation, the judges gave our project the highest score. Joan ran down from the stage, clutching the trophy. "Cynthia, we won!" She threw her arms around me. Before I could say anything, members of the photography club swarmed around the other four to take pictures. Just as I was about to join them, Gerard handed me my laptop. "There's a glitch in one of the frames at the end of the video. Fix it real quick." "What about the group photo?" I asked. "We'll take it later." I sat in a corner and fixed the file. By the time I finished, the stage was already empty. Ricky dropped a photo into our group chat. The four of them stood behind the trophy, with Joan right in the center. The caption read, "One last team effort before graduation. A perfect ending." I wasn't in the photo, though my name was tagged under the post. I closed the laptop. Gerard walked over. "What's wrong? What's with the face?" "Why didn't you guys wait for me for the photo?" "Weren't you fixing the video?" "You could've waited until I was done." I looked him in the eyes. "All the professors were waiting. How could we delay everyone just for you?" After saying that, Gerard took the laptop from my hands. "Joan has an online interview this afternoon. She needs to borrow your laptop." "What about hers?" "It's broken." "I need to submit some paperwork this afternoon." "You can submit it tonight. It won't make a difference," Gerard said dismissively. There it was again. They always decided for me what could wait, what I could let go, and what wasn't worth making a fuss over. I reached for the laptop and tried to take it back. "She can borrow someone else's." Gerard didn't let go. "That's an important interview for her." "That paperwork is important for me, too." "It's just paperwork. Waiting a few hours isn't going to hurt you." Gerard rolled his eyes. Joan walked over. "Forget it. I won't borrow it." Even as she said it, she was already holding my charger. Brandon snatched the laptop out of Gerard's grip and shoved it into Joan's hands. "Just take it." Joan immediately logged into her cloud storage and opened her interview materials. Brandon turned to me, his tone cold. "She's your friend. Don't be so selfish." I looked straight at him. "It's my laptop. How does wanting to use my own things make me selfish?" His face stiffened. Ricky chimed in from the side, "Why do you have to fight over every little thing lately? First the bedroom, then a group photo, and now a laptop. It's not like Joan is stealing your job." I yanked out the power cord. The battery was nearly dead, and the screen went black. Joan gasped. "I haven't saved my changes!" Gerard grabbed my wrist. "Cynthia, do you have to ruin her chances of getting a job?" People in the auditorium turned to look at us, but he still wouldn't let go. I looked down at his hand locked around my wrist. "Let go." "Turn the laptop back on first." "Let go," I said firmly. Brandon walked over and pulled Gerard's hand away. But he wasn't doing it to protect me. "Don't cause a scene here," Brandon muttered. "Cynthia, just lend her the laptop for now. We'll sort things out when we get home." I picked up my laptop. "I have no home to go back to." They thought I was talking about the apartment where I didn't even have a bedroom. None of them had any idea that I'd moved my train ticket up by a day and was leaving tonight. Chapter 4 Gerard pried the laptop out of my hands anyway. Joan's interview had already begun. When the interviewer asked her to explain the creative process behind her graduation project, Ricky opened my documentary and pulled up the project statement beside it. Joan read from the statement as if the words were hers. The text I'd painstakingly revised 17 times came out of her mouth as if the ideas were her own. "Did you also handle all the filming and editing yourself?" the interviewer asked. Joan fell silent. I thought she'd at least tell the truth, but instead, she glanced at Gerard, who gave her a reassuring nod. "Yes," she answered, turning back to the camera. "Yes, I did all of it myself." I dug my fingernails into my palm until it hurt. When Ricky was 19 years old, he entered a short-video competition. His film was nowhere near finished as the deadline loomed, so I stayed up for two straight nights helping him finish it. His entry ended up winning an award. When the host asked who he wanted to thank most, Ricky pulled Joan onto the stage with him and announced, "I want to thank her. She's always believed in me." I sat in the audience and listened as everyone applauded them. Later, Ricky told me that I'd never liked being in the spotlight anyway, so it didn't matter who went onstage. Now, even my boyfriend and my own brother thought it didn't matter when someone took credit for my hard work. Just then, an email from my new employer popped up on my phone. "Please submit a digital copy of your degree certificate and the original project files by 5:30 pm for onboarding. Failure to do so will be treated as forfeiting your offer." It was 5:08 pm. All the files were on my laptop. I walked over to Gerard. "Give me my laptop back for ten minutes." He shifted to block the screen. "Her interview isn't over yet." "I need to submit some important documents." I couldn't say more without revealing that I was leaving. "A little delay won't hurt." Gerard furrowed his brows. "I can't miss the deadline." Brandon glanced at his watch. "Joan only has one round left. Just wait." I reached across the desk for the laptop, but Gerard grabbed my wrist to stop me. In the struggle, Joan knocked over a cup of hot water sitting at the edge of the table. Scalding water splashed across the back of my hand and soaked the folder containing my diploma and the photo of Grandma and me that I kept tucked inside it. I jerked my hand back in pain. Joan quickly muted her microphone and tilted the camera away. Ricky immediately steadied the laptop. Brandon grabbed some tissues and began wiping Joan's skirt, while Gerard picked up the charger to check whether it had gotten wet. Not one of them looked at my hand at first. My skin quickly reddened and began to blister. Joan stood up, looking flustered. "Cynthia, are you okay?" The interviewer called her name from the screen. She glanced at me once, then sat back down. "I'll take you to the campus clinic after my interview." Brandon pushed me back. "Stay away from the laptop. What if you knock it over again?" I bent down to pick up my folder. The cover of my diploma had gone soft from the hot water. Inside, the photo of me with Grandma had been soaked through, too. Before Grandma died, she'd asked Brandon to look after me. He'd promised in front of everyone in the hospital room. "She's my only sister. If I don't look out for her, who will?" Now, my hand was blistering, and all he cared about was Joan's interview. I wasted another ten minutes arguing before I gave up and ran. At 5:27 pm, I rushed into the campus computer lab. Logging in required a verification code sent to my phone. By the time the text came through, I had only one minute left. I uploaded every document I could find, but the original files for my final project were still on my laptop. At 5:30 pm, the submission portal closed. One line of red text appeared on the screen. "The submission deadline has passed." I stared blankly at the screen, my burned hand resting on the keyboard and throbbing with pain. My phone buzzed. Ricky had sent me a screenshot showing that Joan had passed her interview. "Let's celebrate tonight. Don't forget to buy a cake," he wrote. Gerard messaged me a moment later. "I'm bringing the laptop back to your dorm tonight. Calm down. Don't take your anger over what happened today out on Joan." I closed the browser, grabbed my suitcase from the locker where I'd stashed it that morning, and headed for the train station. Before I boarded, the hiring manager sent me an email. "Your documents are incomplete. Please come to the office before 9:00 am tomorrow to submit the remaining materials. Otherwise, we'll offer the position to the next candidate." I'd bought a ticket for the overnight train. It would get me there at 8:30 am. This time, there was nothing left worth staying for. My roommate, Ruth Wagner, later told me that they'd returned to campus at 9:00 pm. Gerard carried my laptop to the dorm to look for me. The moment he opened the door and saw my empty bed, he froze. "Where's Cynthia? Is she pulling a disappearing act just to make us feel guilty?" Ruth looked just as confused. "Cynthia accepted a job out of town and left hours ago. You didn't know?"