"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.

We exchanged a few words when he spotted me.

When I told him I was heading to the cafeteria, Charles frowned.

"I just saw Ronda hanging around there with a group," he said quietly. "They looked shady. If you've got beef with her, you should probably stay away."

I smiled. "What's there to be afraid of? It's broad daylight. What can she do to me?"

I did not give it another thought and headed for the cafeteria.

On the way, I passed a fruit stand. Zoey liked strawberries, so I asked the owner to weigh out a box for me.

When I arrived, Zoey was already there, sitting alone.

I set the strawberries in front of her and asked, "What's so important that you had to meet here? I brought you these. Try them."

She kept her head down. Fear showed plainly on her face. Her eyes flicked to the strawberries, then she suddenly grabbed my hand. Her lips barely moved. "Run."

Before my brain could catch up, figures poured in from every direction. A group of men closed in fast, forming a tight circle around us.

I jumped to my feet and pulled Zoey behind me. I stood straight, though my nerves screamed.

"What do you want?" I said. "Don't come any closer. I'm calling the police."

They laughed. One of them stepped forward. He looked like the leader. Without warning, he swung and slapped me hard across the face.

My head rang. The world tilted.

"You're the bitch who bullied my little sister?" he said. "Not bad-looking. Too bad you're a broke piece of trash."

"What sister?" I shot back, forcing myself upright. "I don't even know her. Let us go. There are cameras everywhere. When the cops show up, none of you will get away."

"Cameras?" He grinned. "You think I'm scared of cameras?"

That was when I noticed their dyed hair and the tattoos crawling up their necks and arms. These were not students.

"You ripped my sister off for 5 bucks," he said. "Don't tell me you forgot."

The moment he said "5 bucks," everything clicked.

"You messed with my sister!" he snarled. "You're asking to die."

The kick came without warning. His foot slammed into my stomach.

I flew backward and hit the floor hard. The air blasted out of my lungs. I barely managed a gasp before hands seized me again.

Then Ronda stepped out from the crowd. She stared down at me, her eyes brimming with poison. "I told you. This isn't over between us."

She then barked, "Hold her."

Two of them pinned my arms. I could not move.

Ronda walked up and began slapping me, left and right. Each strike landed sharp and deliberate.

She cursed with every blow. "Weren't you so tough before? All high and mighty when you talked to me. You called the cops, huh? Go on. Call them now. Let's see if they get here before you're on your knees begging."

Blood filled my mouth. My head buzzed.

She grabbed my hair and yanked my face up to hers, breathing hard with excitement.

"You slut," she hissed. "Don't you like sleeping naked? Fine. Strip her."

Two of the men stepped closer, their eyes crawling over me.

Panic tore through my chest.

"What are you doing?" I shouted. "Let go of me!"

Hands ripped at my clothes, tearing the fabric apart.

Ronda stood off to the side with her phone raised, filming the scene. She laughed as she recorded.

"Yes," she said brightly. "That's it. Once I post this on the campus forum, this slut will be famous. Guys will line up for her."

She looked thrilled, almost impatient.

"What are you waiting for?" she snapped. "Do something. Pants. Shirt. Strip it all off."

Humiliation crushed me. No one had ever treated me like this. Not once.

When one of them reached for my bra, something inside me snapped. I drew my leg back and kicked him as hard as I could between the legs.

His face turned gray instantly, he doubled over, clutching himself. The sound that tore out of him caught halfway between a scream and a choke.