Page 10 of A Deal with my Bully Roommate

"I understand now, Harper," she says, her voice steady but soft. "I see the cage your father built for you. I see why you lashed out."

A spark of hope flares in my chest, but she quickly douses it with her next words.

"But understanding isn't the same as forgiving. Not yet."

I flinch, the honesty of it cutting through me. "I know. I don't deserve it.

"No, you don't," she agrees, but she doesn't pull away. “You hurt me pretty bad. I doubted myself, even hated myself a little for being so powerless. When you followed me to college, I thought my life was over.” She pulls me a little closer, her chin resting on top of my head. "You’re also not the person I thought you were, Harper. And as much as I want to keep hating you... I don’t think I can."

"Because you’re attracted to me too?" I ask, my heart doing that traitorous, jagged little hop.

Avery lets out a small, tired laugh. "Because I think I might have toxically liked you back since the tenth grade, too. I just wasn't stupid enough to act on it by being a bitch. I think we’ve both been obsessed with each other for quite some time now."

I let out a choked sound that’s half-laugh, half-sob. "Fair point."

I cling to her then, burying my face in the crook of her neck. I’m terrified of the morning. I’m terrified of the Sterling merger, and my father’s expectations, and the fact that in ten days, our deal is officially over. What happens then? Does she go back to being the scholarship student and I go back to being the untouchable legacy? Or does she leave me behind in the wreckage of the social life I just destroyed for her?

“I’ll fix it,” I tell her. “Everything I did to you; I’ll find a way to make it right.” It’s only fair, after all, after Avery listened to me and gave me an orgasm. “I’ll be your assistant and work on fixing your image. I can’t undo everything I did in high school, but I’ll try to make things easier for you going forward.”

Avery blinks at me, her dark eyes assessing. “That’s awfully responsible of you.”

“Well, I need to take responsibility sometime,” I admit. “Besides, I did say I liked you. I guess I want to impress the girl I like.”

Avery smiles, but doesn’t say anything.

As I drift off to sleep in her arms, for the first time in years, the voice of my father is silent. There is only Avery, the scent of lavender, and the terrifying, beautiful realization that the girl who was my greatest enemy might be the only one who can actually save me.

The next week is a blur of high-stakes legal theory and low-stakes domesticity. We are living in a paradox. By day, I am still the "assistant," shadowed by the social wreckage of my own making; by night, I am a girl falling in headfirst into a world I was never allowed to inhabit.

We’ve been making out ever since that first night. It’s great, these stolen kisses, these forbidden moments when our breaths mingle and desire rocks my world. Avery is everything I wanted, and with every dark kiss, every touch, every breath, I’m falling deeper for her. I knew this would happen when I opened the Pandora’s box, but I can’t bring myself to regret it. We haven’t defined our relationship, but my life’s so much better with her in it.

And then, there’s the issue of trying to fix my past mistakes. I want to fix the rot I planted, to prove to her that I’m serious about her. I want Avery to know that I regret my past actions.

This week, I spent six hours tracking down the head of the Pre-Law Society. I made sure Avery was not only admitted but fast-tracked for the Moot Court team, leveraging a "favor" my father had once done for the Dean’s brother. It was the first time I used my name for something that felt clean. Second, I tracked down the girl I’d convinced to steal Avery’s first-year textbooks back in high school—a petty, cruel move I’d long forgotten but Avery hadn't. I bought a brand-new set of the most expensive annotated editions of the Blackstone’s Commentaries and left them on Avery's desk with a note that simply said: With interest.

But it’s the moments inside Dorm 111 that feel like real life.

Tonight, I’ve decided to push my luck. I’m planning a real date, something that seems so out of my comfort zone, I might as well jump out the window. However, this week’s been all about leaving my comfort zone. I’ve smuggled a hot plate, a pan, and two ribeye steaks into the room—a massive violation of the university housing code, but I’ve always been good at breaking rules when I’m the one writing them.

"Harper, is something burning?" Avery asks, walking through the door after her late-night shift at the campus library. She stops, her eyes widening.

The room is transformed. I’ve pushed our desks together and covered them with a silk scarf I usually wear to formal dinners. In the center, three prohibited vanilla-scented candles are flickering, casting a soft, golden glow against the walls. I’m standing over the hot plate, trying—and mostly failing—to sear a steak without setting off the smoke detector.

"It’s not burning," I say, poking the meat with a fork. "It’s... caramelizing. Sit down. I’m attempting to provide a service that doesn't involve organizing binders."

Avery drops her bag, a smirk playing on her lips. "A candlelit dinner in a ten-by-ten dorm room? If the RA smells the sear, we’re both getting academic probation. You really like living on the edge, don't you, Price?"

"I’ve spent nineteen years being safe, Avery," I mutter, carefully plating the food. "I think I can handle a fire hazard."

We sit. The steaks are a little overdone, and the "wine" is actually just high-end sparkling grape juice I found in the gourmet section of the local market, but the air between us is thick with something sweeter than the candles. The banter is different now; the jagged edges have been filed down into something softer, something that feels like a secret language.

"You're actually a decent cook," Avery admits, cutting into her steak. "I expected you to think 'cooking' meant calling a caterer."

"I have hidden depths," I tease, though my heart is racing. "Though I will admit, I had to YouTube how to use a hot plate without blowing a fuse."

After dinner, we retreat to the small window nook behind the ferns I insisted on buying to "humanize" the space. The campus is quiet outside, the moonlight reflecting off the glass of the Law building. Avery pulls out her phone and hands me a single earbud.

"Since you're so cultured," she whispers, "tell me what you think of this."