[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.

"Fuck you, bitch! You actually kicked me!"

The next second, fists and boots rained down on me like a storm. There was no restraint and no pause.

I lost all sense of direction. My head rang, and pain bloomed everywhere at once. Not a single part of my body escaped it. When I tried to move, even slightly, sharp agony tore through me. Blood continued to seep from the corner of my mouth.

Maybe Zoey could not bear to watch any longer, because she grabbed Ronda's arm, her voice trembling. "That's enough, Ronda. This is too much. You're going to kill her."

Ronda did not even look at her. She turned and slapped Zoey hard across the face.

"What?" she snapped. "You want to stand up for her? Say one more word, and I'll deal with you too."

Zoey did not dare fight back. She covered her face, clenched her teeth, and retreated to the side.

At the sight of my misery, Ronda laughed. She raised her phone and recorded everything, making sure to capture every detail of my condition.

My consciousness began to blur. Through the haze, I saw the satisfaction etched across her face.

I forced the words out. "You smashed my headphones, stole my laptop, and dragged people here to torture me."

I asked hoarsely, "All of this is because of 5 bucks?"

Ronda snorted, her voice cold. "Yes, 5 bucks. You made me uncomfortable, so you pay for it. I told you you'd regret it."

I nearly laughed. "I made you uncomfortable?"

I replayed everything in my head. From beginning to end, she had been the one provoking me. Every single time. And somehow, I was the one at fault.

"I'll give you one last chance," Ronda said. "Get on your knees, apologize, saying you were wrong, and send me the 5 bucks."

She added, lifting her phone, "And don't even think about calling the police or tattling to lecturers after this."

She gave the phone a small shake, her eyes brimming with mockery. "I've got your photos. Unless you really want to blow up all over campus."

I understood perfectly. If I refused to get on my knees, she would not let me leave. With her personality, she would absolutely post those photos.

I did not want this to spiral out of control. If my parents found out, they would be terrified.

But I had done nothing wrong. So why was I the one being humiliated? Was it really that simple? Did having more people mean more power? Did her bad mood mean I had to submit? What kind of logic was that?

No one answered.

After a long moment, I nodded.

"Fine," I said. "I'll get on my knees and apologize."

Ronda gestured to the two men pinning me down, and they released their grip.

"On your knees," she ordered, chin raised.

I bent my knees and dropped to the floor. Pain shot through me, but I did not cry. I forced my mouth open. "I'm sorry."

She dug a finger into her ear. "What was that? I can't hear you."

"I'm sorry!" My voice rose.

Her response came at once. She slapped me again. "You're not happy? Say it again."

I stayed on my knees for a full ten minutes.

Even her brother grew impatient. "Is this over yet? I've got places to be."

Only then did Ronda relent. She pointed at me one last time.

"Remember this," she said. "From now on, when you see me, keep your head down."

Then she turned and left with the others.

Once they were gone, Zoey rushed over and reached out to help me up.

I shoved her away. "Don't touch me."

She kept apologizing, again and again, but I did not listen.

I took out my phone and dialed a number I had never wanted to use like this.

"Dad." My voice broke the moment he answered. "Help me."