RfH Ch. 02: Between Secrets and Semen

Welcome back to Chapter 2 of the "Roommate from Hell" series (RfH). For those of you just joining us, there will be some recap, but if you want to read the prior chapter first, please check out: "RfH Ch.1 That Thing in the Corner."

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Have you ever found yourself worrying that you might get your throat slit in the middle of the night? That you're going insane? Or even worse; that the fundamental understandings of reality you've lived by your entire life are disastrously mistaken? Or is that just me?

Well real or not, that's the situation I found myself in. I moved into this apartment about a month ago, and I probably should have moved out then. Not because of the location, the price, or even my terrible roommate, but because of that THING in the corner.

From the very first day, there has been this malevolent growth in the living room that only I seem to be able to see. It drove my friends away, and it nearly drove me insane.

I don't know why I stayed for so long, maybe it's because it was so recent after the accident that I didn't want to move again so soon. Maybe some part of me thought it was a hallucination brought on by my grief, a hallucination that would go away when I got better. As if what I went through is the kind of thing anyone gets better from. I don't like to talk about it.

For what ever reason, I did linger for longer than I should have, and wound up witnessing a murder. That's where my roommate Melissa comes in.

At first I thought she was just rude and messy, but that quickly turned out to be the least of my problems. She recently had an adult guest over who attacked her, and she responded by killing the man. I had been watching their activities in hiding for reasons I'm not too proud to admit, but it resulted in me seeing the entire crime go down.

Every time I went to bed, I expected her to creep in and violently carve my guts out onto the mattress. Maybe to silence me, maybe as retribution for spying on her, or maybe just for fun. Every time she walked passed, I held my breath waiting for her to suddenly lash out and strike, or at least confront me on the matter. But that was more than a week ago, and she hadn't said a thing.

And as much as I should still have been concerned for my life, I found my thoughts drifting to other matters. Like the way her unkept hair would swish and bounce when ever she moved, or like the slowly accumulating smell of a woman who hadn't had a shower since she killed a man last week. I couldn't get the image of her abundantly voluptuous naked body out of my mind. Not only had I received a peek while I had been discreetly viewing on the night of the crime, but she would often walk around in just her underwear.

She used to wear a bra around the house to go with her increasingly sweaty panties, but she had recently replaced it with a large T-shirt. The pallid men's T-shirt she wore now was so mundane that it was indiscernible from the shirts I wore to work. It's oversized fit on her didn't cover everything. But it covered a little more than the old mammary holster had, which was simultaneously better, and much worse.

Sure it technically dropped less nip slips than her bra, but she sweated so much that the thin fabric would cling to her skin in a dingy semi-transparency. It might have covered her ass a little bit, but those edges yanked my gaze down every time she bent over, sat down, or took a step too quickly and flashed a transient glimpse at the bountiful, moistened paradise beneath.

The smart thing to do would have been to leave. Just calmly walk out the front door, start running, and keep sprinting until I collapsed into a ball of sobbing madness. Instead I found myself lingering again for the second time, but this time it was for other reasons. Stupid reasons.

Some part of me just wanted answers, to see this whole thing through to the end for better or for worse. But mostly I just wanted to grab those perfect squishy hips of hers and pound that luscious ass into the mattress. Regardless of how bad of an idea it was to stay, I had made my decision. But this time would be different.

Last time I had nearly been caught because I let myself get out of control. This time I had a plan. I had to keep my mind clear. While I still couldn't fap under the murky gaze of that thing growing through the thin plaster walls of the living room and peeking into mine, I could do something about the smell that my roommate persistently spread throughout the place. I had a secret weapon. A huge, bulky secret weapon that was extremely difficult to carry up two flights of stairs.

Plopping the air conditioner unit down on the counter, I took a minute to catch my breath and close the door behind me. Using this, I would be able to bring the summer temperatures of the living room down enough for Melissa to ease up on all that sweat, or even put on clothes. There was just one problem, that thing in the corner had pieces of itself draped all over the floor. Not only did I have to walk across the living room without stepping on any of them, I had to actually move the greasy tentacles stubbornly hanging in the window sill to install the air conditioner.

Clearing off that window would have to be the first step, but I was increasingly unsure of how to do it. I didn't even like being in the same room as this thing, not to mention walking up and touching it. I had been planning to use a broom to gently sweep the protuberances off, but now that I was here looking at it, I was reconsidering that idea as well.

Those slimy limbs were sprawled across the floor in a way that reminded me of webbing, and the insectoid nature of those ocular growths was a little too reminiscent of a spider's gaze for my comfort. For all I knew, they would all suddenly lurch to life the moment I so much as touched them, wrapping up and strangling its helpless prey before devouring me whole like a venus-fly-trap. That's assuming this thing was even a plant, which I wasn't entirely convinced of despite its vegetable appearance. If it was an animal, then there was no telling if it would just get up and chase me down for upsetting it.

Working up the resolve to follow through, I settled on a modified version of the plan. After retrieving some duct tape from my room, I attached a kitchen knife to the broom handle before taking a deep breath and venturing into its territory. I tried to shake the feeling of a bug venturing forth into the spider's web as I carefully tip toed around its appendages.

My sense of accomplishment upon reaching the other side was short lived, as I was reminded that I actually had to provoke the thing now. Cautiously, I took the pointy end and extended it towards the roots creeping along the wall into the window. I let out the breath I was holding in a sudden gasp as the vines reacted to the sharp prodding. Lurching away from the pointy knife, the oozing tendril in the window recoiled itself like a snake ready to strike. All around me, the appendages shivered and trembled.

I stood there petrified with my flimsy broom at the ready until everything stopped moving. After confirming that I was in fact still alive, and the thing hadn't eaten me, I slowly resumed my probing with a new approach. Sliding the knife under the tentacle this time, I gently lifted it away. The many slimy appendages flinched again, but not as violently.

I shoveled it onto the floor and took a moment to confirm that there weren't any more stray tendrils in the window sill. I exited the living room just as safely as I had entered, and steadied myself for the hard part.

Standing in the safety of the kitchen, I took my time trying to memorize the layout of the tentacles and plan the most efficient path from one end of the living room to the other. The best way seemed to be behind the couch, walking along the wall on the left. There were only a couple appendages growing there, and I made note of their position before setting off on my arduous trek with the hefty appliance.

There wasn't much room along the walkway between the couch and the wall, and I was already tired from having carried it all the way up those stairs. Counting my steps carefully, I made sure to step over the vine at the tenth step, or was it the ninth? Which ever it was, my heart sank as I felt a squishy wriggling under my foot and heard an oozing squelch.

The tendrils immediately sprang to life, reacting violently to the weight of a full grown man and an air conditioner suddenly coming down on it. A particularly vigorous tentacle swiftly shot out from under the couch and latched itself around my ankle. I completely dropped the entire conditioning unit is a giant crash as the monstrous organism yanked me from of my feet. I reached desperately for the broom, the knife, or anything at all but it effortlessly dragged me under, taking the couch with it.

I screamed in a howling shriek slightly less dignified than I'd like to admit, but fortunately the monster decided to let me off with a warning this time. I don't know why it chose to spare me. It certainly had the strength to drag me into what ever cold, mucosal hell it had lined up in those festering vegetative bowels, but for what ever reason, I felt the death-grip on my ankle slacken, and release.

Hesitantly, I removed the lifeless hanging root from my body and stood up. All the protuberances laid stationary on the floor around me, and the couch was knocked over. Unsure what else to do, I tip toed over to the fallen air conditioner.

The appliance had a huge dent in it, and I wasn't sure if it was still going to be functional, but I had literally almost died trying to set it up, so I wasn't going to quit now. The whole process was a lot easier with most of the tendrils wrapped up in one homicidal maelstrom on the other side of the room, silently continuing to loom despite their apparent stillness. I tried not to look at them.

After getting the conditioning unit securely set in the window and plugged in, I turned it on, unsure what to expect. The machine gave a grinding noise for a few seconds, before it chugged to life and began to waft nice, fresh, cool air into the room. I was so relieved that I would have immediately flopped down on the couch if it hadn't been knocked over.

Which reminded me that I had to put the couch back; an easy task after all I had been through. But as I went to lift it up, I saw something laying there. Shimmering on the floor, was a knife. Not just any knife, but unmistakably, the murder weapon. Melissa had used this to kill a man just last week.

"What's this doing here?" I asked as I picked it up. The dagger was just under a foot from tip to handle. It's blade was curved wickedly into a repeated wave pattern, and it had a spindly hand guard. Tied tightly to the handle with a murky cord was a pale stone that I tried not to compare to human bone. Upon closer inspection, I noticed a inconspicuous sheath strapped to the bottom of the couch. The knife must have been hidden here well within reach the whole time.

As the novelty of having solved that mystery began to wear off, I found myself facing a difficult question. "What do I do now?" I murmured in frustration. The first thing that occurred to me was to take the knife and hide it somewhere else. This thing was dangerous, and right next to the homicidal maniac that lounged on this couch most of the day. It was becoming increasingly likely that the weapon I held in my hand was going to be used on me. But if I hid it, it was only a matter of time before she checked on it. It being missing or out of place would imply pretty strongly that I knew about her crimes, and while this thing would be pretty knarly to be stabbed by, she could kill me with any knife if she really wanted to.

I briefly considered taking this knife to the police department and turning her in, but I quickly realized that would be a bad idea. Not only did the knife I was holding now contain my fingerprints, but best case scenario I'd still have to get a new roommate. A new roommate that would be completely unaware of the massive, dangerous, invisible creature in the living room. Even though she revealed no indications of being able to see it, that thing had inexplicably left her alone this entire time, and I didn't want to mess with that dynamic.

So if I couldn't take it, and I couldn't give it to the police, what options did that leave me? Kill her? As bad as that thing in the corner was, I couldn't see the conditions in prison being any better, so that was out of the question. Besides, if she died, that would ruin the chances of us ever hooking up, and that wasn't a possibility I was willing to give up on yet.

Considering all my choices carefully, I decisively put the knife back where it was, and returned the couch to its previous position. While it was undeniably the best course of action, I couldn't shake the feeling of running away with my tail between my legs. The whole time I had been here, I had been letting my roommate and that thing in the corner call the shots.

Well today I had bested, or at least survived, that thing in the corner, and if I survived that, what was the worst she could do to me? After all; her knife was out here under the couch. If she tried to pull her weapon on me now, I would be able to see it coming and overpower her. She only came up to my chest in height, what was the worst an unarmed woman could possibly do?

Confidently, I strolled up to Melissa's room and firmly knocked at the door. When she failed to respond, I called for her, but it was equally ineffective. After standing there awkwardly for a minute, I reflected upon the first time I had knocked on this door. It didn't go well.

"Don't ever knock on this door again. If you ever come in here without my permission, I will kill you." She had told me before slamming the door in my face. I had accepted it as hyperbole at the time, but after seeing her literally kill someone, I wasn't so sure.

"It's just one unarmed woman..." I reminded myself as I turned the handle. Once again I tried to shake the feeling of a bug venturing into the spider's web, and slowly pushed the door open.

Now I had thought the smell she left on the couch from her cable TV movie marathons was offensive, but the stench of dirt laundry, unwashed sheets, and moldy under current of something familiar that assailed me upon entering her layer almost floored me. There was a massive stack of smelly clothes overflowing from the closet, other worn garments had been discarded around the room similarly. The blankets were crumpled into wrinkled heaps, and she didn't even bother using sheets over the sweat stained mattress of her excessively large bed. There was computer in the corner, and above it on the wall, there was another patch of that murky malignance, just like the one in mine. If the piercing stare from that thing was making it as uncomfortable to masturbate for her as it had for me, I couldn't blame her for having been so bitchy, and so sexually forward with the ill fated stranger she killed last week. Taking a deep breath through my mouth, I steeled myself before proceeding.

"Melissa? We need to talk. Are you here?" I asked the empty room awkwardly. I had been so quick to confront her, that it hadn't occurred to me she wouldn't be here. But she had to be here, she never left the house. All those times she wasn't loafing around in the living room, she was just loafing around in here. Right?

As I stood there dumbfounded, I realized that I was unignorably alone in the room of my hot roommate. I found my pants tightening at the thought, but what was I going to do, masturbate over her dirty underwear?

"Ha, as if." I chuckled at the thought. I might have been brought to some new lows this past month, but even I wasn't perverted enough to stoop to something so pathetic. I had no respect for those who would subject themselves to such indignity for a slight wiff of their unsuspecting victim's crotch stank. That said, being alone in Melissa's room was an opportunity I wasn't likely to get again. I knew so little about my secretive roommate, and there were so many unanswered questions that were becoming increasingly relevant to my health and safety. So I closed the door behind me and resolved to snoop around the place for clues.

My initial scan revealed very little. The top layer of clutter and disarray contained nothing indicative that a murderer lived here. Wandering across the room in my search, I arrived at her dresser on the other side. Opening the top drawer, I found a bundle of wadded up underwear. Most guys wandering through a woman's underwear drawer would have a very different itinerary. Taking moment to laugh again about the absurdity of panty sniffing, I shoved them aside and rummaged through the drawer for anything hidden.

What I found were several glass containers with vague substances within. One of them was an opaque liquid, but the rest seemed to be various kinds of plants. The vegetable matter was shredded and ground beyond recognition, so I thought I would try opening one to identify it by smell.

I had just started to twist the lid of the jar, but was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Instinctively, I turned to the door expecting her to burst in and stab me. But as I listened, I realized that the sound wasn't coming from the door, but the window!

Peeking out the musty glass, I saw a pair of shapely and familiar legs strolling down the stairs of the fire escape, strolling right this way. Tossing the jars back in place and slamming the drawer shut, I dashed across the room seeking escape. I was only halfway when I heard her fiddling with the window. There wasn't enough time to get out the door and close it quietly, so I dove into the closet with out thinking.

The concentrated odor of weeks worth of sweaty laundry invaded my senses so strongly that I thought I was going to faint, but I couldn't afford to leave now. Smelly and cramped, I quickly adjusted my self with my face to the door as she noisily crawled in through the window. Peeking through a gap in between the doors, I watched her enter the room.

She was wearing a black cape and a thin striped sweatshirt. Where ever she had been must have been cold, because it was clear she wasn't wearing a bra underneath. Her pants were tight biking shorts that matched the cape, and she glanced around the room as she sipped lazily on a Mac-Latte.

I must have been hidden sufficiently because her gaze didn't linger on the closet, and she quickly went back to her business. Setting the drink down, she un-hooked the cape and threw it on to the bed. Gripping her shirt from the bottom, she lifted it over her head as she slid the garment off her body. Her massive boobs came pouring out of the bottom as they quaked and shook.

Turning around to brace herself on her office chair, she leaned over and pealed off the clinging fabric of her bike shorts. Her hips spilled out the top, and her ass rose mightily into view as she stood doubled over, yanking the bike shorts from her ankles.

Standing too her full extent, she stretched out the limited entirety of her nude figure before me. My crotch ached painfully, constrained in my pants. Having to share a closet with a mountain of old laundry left me crushed up against the wall where I was unable to maneuver myself into a position in which I could adjust my pants into a more comfortable arrangement. Peering secretly from my hidden vantage point, this felt like the murder incident all over again, but this time there was nowhere to run, and no means to looks away even if I wanted to.

Melissa took a shirt hanging from the back of her chair, and held it to her face. I recognized this as the casual men's shirt she had taken to wearing recently as she nuzzled it tenderly. With a sigh, she threw the top on and plopped down on her office chair in front of the computer.