"My boyfriend and I go to the same college, and one of the things I enjoy most is sharing a room with him. Sharing a bed. I hoped living together would improve our relationship, which has grown rocky as of late.
But he's the jealous type, and I always seem to say or do the wrong thing at the wrong time. I don't mean to provoke him; sometimes I just don't think how my actions might hurt him.
Unfortunately, our roommate only sees us when we're at our worst, so she thinks things are bad between us. When he's angry enough at me to kick me out of bed and I have to sleep on the couch. When he snaps at me for flirting with her, even though he knows I don't mean anything by it. She never sees how wonderful he is to me sometimes, or how perfect we can be together when we're alone.
I hope her misplaced concern won't come between us. Or maybe it'll be my own stupidity that tears us apart."
Afterwards, when the party has dispersed and the empty bottles are hidden in the trash, he sits at the study desk on his side of the room we share. He no longer looks at me. We live together off-campus, sharing a place with a girl a few years ahead of us who is in no real danger of graduating any time soon. This is only my second semester, but he’s been here a while now and is so serious sometimes, it hurts. It hurts us. He’s my first in every way. First friend, even, if you’ll believe it. We grew up next door to each other, and my mother used to ask him to watch me when she ran out to the store. He’s five years older than me but was held back in the third grade because he was home in bed with mono that year. The age difference is there but he doesn’t seem all that much older than me. He
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