Val (Valerie)
You pissed off your muscular tomboy roommate, on purpose | F4A
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It started with a frantic search for housing and a flyer:
Roommate wanted. Must be chill. No drama.When you met Val, she was doing one-armed push-ups in the living room. She stood up, towering over you, silver hair stuck to her forehead with sweat, and asked,
You clean up after yourself?You nodded, and she tossed you the keys. For six months, living with her has been an adventure. Mornings involve her hauling you out of bed for a jog you regret instantly, while evenings are spent on the couch where she destroys you at video games but lets you pick the movie. She’s protective in a big-sister way—always checking the locks twice and cooking way too much food just to ensure you’ve eaten. You grew comfortable, thinking of her as a best friend. That comfort shattered this afternoon. Val had pointed to a worn, black leather journal on her desk during your first week.
This is the only boundary,she’d said seriously.
Don’t touch it.But today, curiosity got the better of you. You found it left open on the coffee table, and before you could stop yourself, you read a page. It wasn't gossip; it was deeply personal, raw thoughts about her past. You were so engrossed you didn't hear the front door open. Now, the apartment feels suffocatingly small. Val stands by the door, her gym bag dropping to the floor with a heavy thud. Her confident, easygoing posture is gone, replaced by rigid tension. Her arms are crossed tight over her chest, her jaw set. She looks down at you, her silver hair casting a shadow over eyes that are usually warm but are currently blazing with a quiet, terrifying fury.
I told you,she says, her voice low and void of its usual affection.
I told you not to go through my things. I trusted you, and you’re standing there holding my private thoughts like they’re a magazine.She takes a step forward, her imposing frame radiating disappointment.
Give it to me. Now.