After pulling an all-nighter to finish a group assignment, I wanted only one thing: sleep.

I did not even get 10 minutes.

My roommate, Ronda Jones, burst into the dorm, raging about class. She shouted into her headset and turned our room into a storm of insults and keyboard slams.

When I quietly asked her to keep it down, she turned on me instead. Then the power went out, and a 5-dollar electricity bill became the excuse she had been waiting for.

I refused to split it.

That single decision set everything in motion.

When I heard the power had gone out, I let out a quiet breath I had not realized I was holding.

"Finally," I muttered. "Maybe they will shut up for a minute."

Ronda Jones still looked like she had steam coming off her. She shoved the other two to hurry up and add money to the electricity meter, determined to finish the game.

"Just top it up," she said. "We're not losing this round."

Vicky Frey pointed at the desk beside her chair. "The power card is literally next to you."

Ronda snatched it, jammed it into the reader, and snapped the moment the number appeared.

"Jeez, who the hell was watching porn in here?" she barked. "How is it already 25 bucks?"

She recharged it anyway, grumbling the whole time, her face sour. As soon as the lights blinked back on, she started yelling for everyone to send her their share.

By then, I was beyond tired. My heart had started that ugly, too-fast flutter that came after I stayed up too long. If I did not sleep soon, I would pay for it.

I thought about the past five months since school started. I had covered the dorm's electricity every time. None of them had cared, and I had never asked for their few dollars back. If I did not split it this once, it would be fine.

Thus, I decided to go to sleep, guilt-free. I was so exhausted that the thought barely finished forming before I slipped under.

The peace lasted maybe three seconds.

A harsh metallic clatter snapped against my bedframe. The sound was like someone tapping a spoon against a rail, over and over.

Ronda was striking the edge of my bunk with something hard, making it ring.

I could not take it. Irritation surged up on instinct, hot and immediate.

Before I even opened my eyes, she yanked my bed curtain aside without asking.

"Hey," she said, her voice sharp enough to cut. "Send me your share of the electricity. Are you deaf?"

My mind was still foggy. I did not answer fast enough.

Ronda reached in, tore my headphones off, and ripped my blanket back in one rough motion.

I usually slept naked. It was the fastest way for me to fall asleep.

Her move left me exposed to the room in an instant. Shock burned the sleep right out of me. I grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around myself as fast as I could.

"What are you doing?" My voice came out tight.

Ronda rolled her eyes, as if I were the problem. "Send me the money."

"Why would you just yank my blanket off?" Heat climbed into my face. "Do you not understand what privacy is?"

Now I was genuinely angry, and I did not bother hiding it.

Ronda did not back down. She jutted her chin up and said, her voice two notches louder than mine, "Then why are you sleeping naked in a dorm? You think this is your house?"

"You think you've got the moral high ground just because you sleep naked?" Ronda sneered. "If you're that horny, go find a man already."

My ears burned as anger rushed to my face. At the same time, my heart started acting up again, harder than before. The flutter sharpened, and a dull ache pressed into my chest.

I did not want to argue with her anymore. I just wanted it finished—pay her, sleep, and get through the day. Hence, I sent the money.

After I transferred my share of the electricity bill, Ronda still did not leave.

"Why did you send me 25 dollars?" she demanded. "I did the math. 25 total. That means five each. Just send me five."

I stared at her, confused, then swallowed my temper. "Then refund me 20 dollars."

I pulled the blanket back up and put on my headphones, making it clear the conversation was over. I needed her gone.

Ronda reached out and yanked the headphones straight off my head.

"No," she said. "You need to send me another 5 dollars. I'm not accepting this 25 dollars."

Something inside me finally snapped.

"Then count this electricity bill as mine," I said flatly. "Don't refund anything. Give me my headphones back."

I reached for them.

Without hesitation, Ronda flung the headphones to the floor.

They hit hard.

They were limited-edition BO headphones worth over 2,000 dollars.

I threw on some clothes and jumped down from the bed. My hands trembled as I picked them up. The outer shell was shattered, cracked clean through.

Repairs alone would cost 500 or 600 dollars.

Rage surged so fast that my vision blurred. The pain in my chest spiked with it.

"What is wrong with you?" I shouted. "Why would you smash my headphones?"

Ronda crossed her arms and looked at me with open boredom. "We'll split the electricity bill. 5 dollars."

She was doing this on purpose. She wanted a fight.

My patience ran out.

"I'm not sending anything today," I said. "What are you going to do about it?"

I shoved past her hard enough to make my point. "Get lost. If you keep messing with me, I'm reporting this straight to the counselor."

I climbed back into bed and forced my eyes shut. My heart still pounded.

Ronda narrowed her eyes. Her expression twisted into something ugly, mean in a way that made my skin crawl.

"You're not paying?" she said quietly. "You'll regret it."

I ignored her. She was unhinged. Part of me almost wanted to see how she planned to make me regret it.

After that fight, the dorm finally quieted down.

I slept until the afternoon. The alarm dragged me awake, and I rushed to wash up. A faint ache lingered in my chest, and my head felt stuffed with cotton from the lack of sleep.

Class time crept up fast. I grabbed my things and turned to my desk for my laptop.

The surface was empty. My laptop was gone. So were the power cables. Even my specially paired speakers had disappeared.

That group project would determine whether I passed the finals. If my parents found out I failed, they would never let it go.

My stomach dropped.

We did not have strangers coming in and out. There were only the four of us.

I turned to Vicky and the other roommate. "Did either of you touch my stuff? Where's my laptop?"

Vicky shook her head, her expression flat. "Wasn't me."

She was always close with Ronda. They ate together and went everywhere together. I already knew she would not help me.

I asked Zoey next. She also said she had no idea.

That left one person.

Ronda sat at her desk with headphones on and music playing. She looked relaxed, almost cheerful.

I hesitated. I was already running late for class. With no proof and no time, I grabbed my books and left the dorm.

As I walked, I messaged the counselor and reported a theft in our room.

I had not gone far when Zoey sent me a private message.

Zoey: [Check the campus forum.]

I frowned but opened it anyway. The first post at the top of the feed advertised a secondhand laptop for cheap.

[Like new. Barely used. Limited-time deal. Five bucks. DM me if you want it.]

The comments under the campus forum post were already piling up. Plenty of people wanted it.

The laptop in the photos was mine.

The poster's avatar had been censored, but the details were sloppy. I recognized the desk, the cluttered background, and the camera angle at once. It was Ronda.

The moment I realized my 12,000-dollar laptop had been stolen and tossed up for sale like junk, something in my chest detonated. Anger surged so violently that it felt as if my lungs might burst.

Class no longer mattered.

I spun around with my phone clenched in my hand and ran straight back to the dorm.

Ronda was there.

"I knew it was you," I said, shoving my phone inches from her face. "You took my laptop. This is theft."

She glanced at the screen with open boredom and said lightly, "So what if I took it? You shouldn't have refused to split the electricity bill. Since you didn't send the money, I had to figure something out myself."

I laughed sharply. "I didn't refuse. You were the one who wouldn't accept it."

I demanded, "Do you have any idea how important that laptop is to me? I stayed up all night to finish that group project."

She shrugged. "Not my problem. I already sold it."

That ended the conversation. There was no point arguing with someone like her.

I did not hesitate. I called the police.

"Hello? I need to report a theft."

As soon as she realized what I was doing, Vicky finally spoke.

"You've gone too far," she said as she stepped in. "You didn't pay Ronda your share. How do you have the nerve to call the police? Hang up right now."

I shot her a cold look and asked, "Where were you when she stole my things? Now you suddenly find your courage?"

Vicky flushed. Ronda's expression flickered. Panic surfaced for a brief second. She lunged, as if she meant to snatch my phone.

I raised my voice at once and said into the call, "Please hurry. The thief is trying to attack me."

That stopped her.

…

When the police arrived, the counselor appeared almost at the same time.

The stolen item was high-value. What Ronda had done was no longer dormitory drama. It was a crime.

After they confirmed she had sold my laptop, the counselor ordered her to cooperate and retrieve it immediately.

Later, the counselor explained my situation to my lecturers. That intervention was the only reason my absence did not turn into a failing grade.

Then came the pressure.

"You didn't really suffer a loss," the counselor said carefully. "And you're roommates. You see each other every day. Just sign a statement and we can close this matter."

I refused at first.

The counselor then made Ronda apologize on the spot. The apology was stiff and hollow, but it happened.

After repeated coaxing and steady pressure, I agreed. I did not want to see her sitting in detention for a year or two either.

The moment we stepped out of the counselor's office, Ronda shot me a vicious look.

"Don't think you're some saint," she hissed. "This isn't over between us."

I stared at her as if she had lost her mind and applied for a room change immediately.

The counselor looked uncomfortable.

"There aren't any spare beds right now," they said. "Winter break is coming soon anyway. Can you hold on a little longer? When you return after the break, I'll rearrange things."

I agreed.

…

For the next few days, Ronda behaved herself, at least on the surface. She stopped provoking me outright and switched to a colder, more distant approach.

They excluded me from everything. Meals, errands, even dorm get-togethers happened without anyone bothering to tell me.

I did not mind. The room felt quieter. I had space to breathe and time to focus on my studies.

That weekend, Zoey suddenly asked me to meet her at the cafeteria. She said it was important.

I did not think much of it. I grabbed my things and headed downstairs.

As I stepped out of the building, I spotted Charles Ledley, our class monitor, standing near the entrance with a bag of fruit in his hands. He was clearly waiting for his girlfriend.