Page 1 of How I Ruined Everything by Kissing My Roommate

CHAPTER 1

Iris

The stench of turpentine was my personal shield.

It hung thick and comforting in the stale Ashton University air, a chemical declaration that this square footage—Room 418—was not a social hub, but a workspace. My sanctuary. It was late afternoon, and the light slicing through the single window was perfect, illuminating the glorious, organized chaos of my senior year strategy. Canvases were stacked by height, tubes of Cadmium Yellow and Payne’s Gray were spilled across the desk like colorful guts, and an enormous easel stood guard in the middle of the floor, staking my claim.

Keep your head down. Build the portfolio. Get out with your heart intact.

It was a simple, sacred vow, built on the rubble of my junior year. A year ago, Iris Hart had been a different person: soft, trusting, and stupid enough to believe in forever with her first love, Riley.

“Don’t make a scene, Iris. It was just an experiment.”

The memory was still a low, humiliating hum beneath my skin. Walking in on Riley and my studio partner—not in bed, but in the storage closet, hands all over each other, whispering apologies that felt like curses. She wasn’t even a lesbian, just someone experimenting with me. At the cost of my heart. I was shattered because I thought what we had was really special. But I was just another random woman to her. A screaming match in the cafeteria, an embarrassing event that most of the university witnessed. That wasn’t it, there was also the final, soul-crushing shame of crying in front of my entire critique class, ruining a presentation, and realizing my entire life had been a public spectacle.

I shuddered, tightening the knot on a bin bag full of old clothes. I was exhausted from the move, yes, but mostly exhausted from the constant effort of being alone. Alone was safe. Alone was predictable. Alone was the only rule I wouldn’t break. I just had to get through my senior year alone, and I’d have a job and a future without the drama.

I needed silence. I needed isolation. I needed this room to be mine.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The noise started from down the hall, rhythmic and heavy, like a metronome for impending disaster.

Thump. Thump. THUMP.

It stopped abruptly at my door, followed by a bright, jarring knock.

“Hello, Room 418! Opening up, don’t mind me!”

The voice was pure, unadulterated, blinding sunshine. The kind I craved but didn’t need in my life.

The door swung open, and the light from the hallway seemed to flood my room in an unwelcome golden tide.

“Hi, I’m Sophie Mercer, your new roommate.” I didn’t hear her voice because I was so mesmerized by her energy.

Sophie Mercer was an intrusion on a molecular level. She was radiant and effortlessly took up space. Every piece of me, from the anxious coil in my stomach to the sudden, breathless stop of my task, registered her arrival as an act of physical force.

She didn’t just walk in; she arrived.

Her hair was a short, textured pixie, the blonde a natural, unbothered streak of light. She wore an Ashton University soccer shirt—the captain’s number—and the definition in her arms as she effortlessly hoisted a heavy, ridiculously enormous duffel bag over her shoulder was, I hated to admit, genuinely distracting.

Star soccer captain, the little voice of doom whispered. Golden-retriever energy. Effortless confidence. Clearly, she has never been hurt by anyone, unlike me. Definitely not the kind of roommate I need.

She dropped the bag with a cheerful thud that shook the floor and grinned, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Woah. They weren’t kidding about the fine arts thing. The office told me that my roommate is a fine arts major. This room smells like a masterpiece, Hart.”

“Iris,” I snapped, correcting her without moving. My heart was pounding, a panicked drumbeat against my ribs.

“Sophie,” she countered, perfectly unruffled. She pushed the short blonde hair off her forehead with a careless hand and extended it to me. “Nice to meet you, Iris.” Even her voice was like a ray of hope, a spark of sunshine my fearful heart didn’t want to clutch. “Look, I know this is a total nightmare. The housing office screwed up. But hey, at least we have plenty of room for activities, right?”

I stared at her hand, refusing to touch it. The proximity was already too much.

“We’ll be taking this to the RA immediately,” I said, my voice ice. “I requested a single.”

Sophie laughed, a deep, easy sound that was offensively charming. She looked past me, spotting a small, print I’d taped to the wall—a vintage illustration of two women dancing.

“Oh, I love that. Super sweet. Yeah, I hear you on the single, but hey, you know how it is. We got assigned; we roll with it. Besides,” she said, finally turning back to me with a lazy, confident lean against the doorframe, “don’t worry, your art’s safe. I’m very out and very proud”.