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There’s something off about your roommate.
You two met a couple months ago when she applied for the sublease position. At the time, you were so happy to see Brad leave you didn’t care who replaced him. Hell, you practically boxed up his shitty Playstation games and half-naked posters yourself. Watching him leave was the end of two failed years of trying to keep a relationship on life support. His slamming the door was the merciful pulling of the plug.
But that left you with a double rent payment. So, like any college student with low self-preservation and even less money, you put out an ad for a roomie. The apartment was a two bedroom and with Brad gone, the “game room” as he’d called it was vacant. All you needed for premed was your bookshelf, your tiny glass top desk and your sticker-covered laptop. Well, all that and fifty thousand dollars, but that was beside the point.
When Lilith answered the ad, she’d done so in person, and after you’d gotten home from a double at the Starbucks near the Village. Weird that she couldn’t wait, but hey, she had cash in hand. She was the quiet type, with long black hair and large green eyes that darted around, soaking in everything about your microscopic living space. She didn’t smile much, and she didn’t have much stuff, but she could pay the sublease in its entirety and promised to stay out of your hair. She seemed a little off, but hey, who were you to judge?
Lilith didn’t strike you as a party animal, but she was definitely a night owl. You almost never saw her during the day. She kept her door closed and she carried her toiletries with her in a small pink plastic basket, so nothing was ever left in the bathroom. She never touched your food and kept hers to one side of the fridge in a pile that never seems to change.
There was never a mess left out. The living room always looked untouched when you came home. In fact, she was so good about not being present that you were beginning to clean up after yourself more just because of how self-conscious her neatness was making you feel. It was a drastic but welcome change from the gross hair clippings and half-empty beer cans of the Brad era.
Sometimes you’d hear Lilith go out at night. Sometimes you’d try to catch her, but more often than not she’d sneak out while you were in the bathroom or studying with your door shut. In fact, in those first two months, you felt like you could count on one hand how many times you’d interacted with Lilith in the living room. She never wanted to watch any TV, never seemed to get any calls, nothing. She seemed to be allergic to media.
***
The first time your perception shifts from “I have a very private roomie” to “something seems off” is in the kitchen. It’s nearly midnight, and you are woken from your hunched position at your desk by a cry of pain. You know the difference. There’s a distinct sound people make when they’re hurt as opposed to surprised or scared. You’d made that same noise too many times in the last two years not to recognize it.
You find Lilith near the stove, clutching her hand and hissing to herself. You instantly see her palm was burned, and being you, you don’t waste any time. She only notices your presence when you take her ice-cold hand and half-drag her to the sink to run some water over it.
“Sorry,” she keeps mumbling. “I wasn’t paying attention. You don’t need to do that. I’ll be fine.”
Her voice is scratchy, like she hadn’t used it in a while. You almost have to strain over the sound of the running water to understand what she is saying.
“No big deal,” you tell her. You flash a smile and examine the wound. The burn looks bad. She must have grabbed something hot from the stove and not noticed what she was doing until it was too late. “That’s pretty nasty. Wait here. I’ll go get the first aid kit.”
“You really don’t need to. It’s my fault,” Lilith starts. You hold up a hand and shake your head.
“I said it’s no biggie. Now wait here.” You barely register the clamshell headphone case your foot bumped as you make your way to the linen closet for your first aid kit. When you come back to the kitchen properly armed to treat a wound, you find Lilith trying to rip open the thick plastic packaging with her bare hands. She’s in the process of gnawing on it when she sees you and blushes.
“Those things are terrible,” you say. “Here, let me grab a knife.”
Lilith jerks towards you, but then pulls back. She eyes the silverware drawer nervously as you root around for a sharp steak knife. That’s when you notice one of the nice ones your mom sent you off to school with on the floor. “Were you trying to get it open with this?”
Lilith nods. “I wasn’t paying attention and, well…” she rubs her hand.
You shrug it off. It’s clear your roomie isn’t used to person-time. “These things can be slippery. I think they’re too nice, but they were a gift. Here.” You cut through the clamshell packaging and hand her the set of green ear buds.
Lilith nods and mumbled a quick “thank you” as she stuffs the buds in her sweatpants pocket. You set to tending her wound and making sure she is wrapped properly. The entire time, Lilith squirms in place, but she doesn’t pull back.
“This is very kind of you,” she mutters. Her voice sounds like leaves rustling in a cold autumn breeze. Her skin is cool to the touch as you finish her wrappings.
“Please stop. We’re roomies. It’s totally cool. Besides, I’ve had practice.”
Lilith looks up from her hands as you roll up your sleeve to show her a splotch of smooth, pink flesh on our shoulder. “Iron. He was drunk and I was slow. It happens.”
Lilith reaches out to touch the wound, but then stops herself. She reminds you of a scared animal that’s trying to figure out if it can trust the person in front of it.
You can tell Lilith isn’t used to being social. You wonder how much more mental energy she has in the tank when you say, “hey, you wanna hang out? I know it’s late, but we could look for a movie. I’ve got Hulu.”
Lilith blinks in confusion and cocks her head. “What’s a Hulu?”
Before you can answer, she shakes her head and says, “I don’t… No, thank you. I need to go out.” She turns for the door, and you want to remind her that she’s in nothing but dark green sweats and a loose tank top, but hey, she’s an adult and it’s not like its winter out.
“You sure? I’ve got some ice cream,” you point to the freezer. This is the most effort you’ve made into trying to make nice with Lilith since she moved in, and you find yourself painfully aware that you’re failing miserably.
“Oh, um, no, thank you. I can’t eat that,” she says. “But, thank you? Maybe we can try some Hulu another night?”
Weird way of putting it, but hey, she didn’t completely shoot down your offer to hang out. Roommate points! And hey, so she’s lactose intolerant. No big deal. There are other desserts. “Uh, yeah. Sure. Cool.”
Her mouth quirks into a small smile at that, like she’s amused. “Cool,” she parrots. It almost feels like she’s trying the word out.
Before you know what’s happening, Lilith is sliding her earbuds out of her pocket and into her ears. She’s out the door in less than three seconds.
You turn to the kitchen to clean up, but that’s when you notice it. The stove is off. There’s no pot or pan out, and the sink is empty.
So, what did your roomie burn herself on?
***
The second time you notice something’s off is when you do your laundry. It’s a week later and despite your interaction, you still only see Lilith in passing. Before, it felt like she was actively avoiding being anywhere in the apartment you were, but now she’s leaving her room more, and least now she’s nodding at you. Yesterday, you found her examining a book on ancient Greece that you’d left on the coffee table. She’d looked up and nodded at you when you entered the room. That was becoming her thing in your eyes. Nodding.
You nod back. She smiles. Baby steps.
As you go to put your load into the tiny, stacked washer/dryer combo in the utilities closet, you notice something on the floor. Curious, you pick it up to find a white cotton tank top. You instantly clock it as Lilith’s as you don’t wear white tanks, but several times now you’ve seen Lilith wandering around in one.
Not this one, though. It’s completely stained with blood.
At first, you’re alarmed. This is considerably more than an okay amount of blood to be missing from a body, but then you remember she’d burned her hand, and she’d been wearing a tank top that night, and maybe she was a bleeder? Maybe she was also a bit sloppy about keeping her bandage on? To be fair, Lilith doesn’t strike you as being heavy into self-care, so it’s possible that’s what you’re seeing.
But it’s still a lot of blood.
You’ve got some whites that need washing, so you run a heavy bleach load and toss in her tank. Why not? It’s not like it’ll hurt anything.
When you fish it out of the dryer, it looks considerably better. It actually took two washes and a soak, but the blood stains seem to be gone. Happy with your work, you go to put the tank top on Lilith’s bed, but her door is locked. You knock, but there’s no response. You figure she’s either out or sleeping, so you hang the tank top from the door handle.
Later that night after your shift, you notice the tank top is gone. Also, there’s a post-it on your door that reads “Thank you.”
You smile. This is progress.
***
It’s two nights later. You’re working a late shift and your coworker had to dip out due to tummy troubles. You're pretty sure that was code for meeting up with her boyfriend, but you can’t keep her there, and the manager isn’t answering their phone, so you’re stuck closing by yourself.
And the guy at the far table won’t leave.
He’s been watching you for forty-five minutes and you’re getting the Something Is Very Wrong vibe from him. He’s got that look, that full-eyed intense look you recognize. You’d seen it plenty of times on Brad when he was in the mood. It was the look that meant if you were lucky, you could talk yourself out of having to perform for the evening. But only if you were lucky.
And the guy at the far table is giving that look to you now.
It’s not quite ten but you’re fed up with this shit and wanting to get away from this creep and into a hot shower. You close out the register but keep the music on. With the music on, it doesn’t feel quite as uncomfortable.
“We’re closing, Sir. You’ll need to finish up and head out. Thanks for stopping by.”
Years of menial customer service shine through in your voice and posture. Your smile is a perfect mask for the “get the fuck out of here” that’s laced in the sweetness of your words. You hope he takes the hint.
He stares at you and looks around, and for a moment you wonder how fast you can sprint to the backroom. Then he drops a five on the table and shuffles out the door. You’re behind him in a second, locking the deadbolt and breathing a sigh of relief. You take a long time to wipe everything down, just in case someone is lingering. You play the counter music extra loud to keep your mind from lingering on how that look made you feel.
You really, really want that shower.
When you check the back exit, everything seems fine. You look around twice, making sure your surroundings are secure as you lock the door and pocket the keys. You slip your ear buds in and click on your playlist as you make it onto the main street. Home is five blocks away, three of which are bright. The last two aren’t, but that’s okay. You’ve got pepper spray.
At least, that’s the thought you have while, on that very bright street, someone grabs you from behind and drags you into a side alley. Their hand is over your mouth before you can scream. You drop your pepper spray as you claw and grab at the arm wrapped around your neck. Every lesson you’ve ever had about self-defense flies out the window as fear washes over you. It’s admittedly not a proud moment, but panic is a helluva thing, as you’re finding out.
Coffee shop guy throws you to the ground and you land hard. You feel the first few blows to the face, but then things go a bit numb and hazy. He’s saying something, but he boxed your ear and everything is kinda warbly. You’re pushing and shoving him away, but he’s using his weight and you know what’s coming. You’ve been in this situation before, but different. You don’t know this man. You’re not in your bed. You do your best to brace yourself. You close your eyes.
There’s a scream, and suddenly there isn’t any weight on you. You hear something that sounds like the grinding of peppercorns with your mother’s pepper shaker, and that’s when something warm sprays across you.
You open your eyes, and coffee shop guy is gone. You’re covered in something sticky and wet, and there’s a hand on the ground.
It takes your mind a second to register that said hand isn’t attached to anything. It’s just there.
You scream and get the fuck out of there. Fuck this entire night.
When you get home and lock the door, you lean against it and feel that uncontrollable swift sobbing that comes with being overwhelmed. The entire ordeal took less than a minute, but you know you’re going to replay it in your mind on loop for the next six months.
When you finally collect yourself, you notice the door is smeared with something red where you’d leaned against it. You reach out to touch it and notice you’re covered in the red as well.
You’re pretty sure it’s blood, but you run to the bathroom and turn on that horrible mirror light that shows every single line and hair, just to be sure. You look like you were hit with a can of red spray paint. Your face is swelling up from where coffee shop guy hit you, but you’re 100% sure this blood isn’t yours.
You stay curled in the shower well past when the hot water stops. You come out an hour later wrapped in a towel and not wanting to deal with your dirty clothes, but you know they need to be stain treated.
Lilith is on the couch. She looks up from the book on ancient Greece and stares at you.
“Are you okay?”
Her voice is laced with concern. You didn’t see her when you came in. Maybe she saw the blood on the door. Maybe she heard you crying or noticed the handful of bloody clothes you’re carrying.
“I’ll be okay,” you say. You won’t. I mean, you will? But you really fucking won’t for a while.
You don’t ask how she knows you’re not okay. You don’t register this, as, well, you’re not fucking okay right now.
Lilith picks up a steaming mug from the side table and stands. She reaches out to hand you the coffee cup. “Tea,” she says in a halted voice. “For nerves. I’m told it works.”
You thank her and sip the tea. It tastes like she slit the bag open and dumped it in hot water. You look in the mug and see bits of tea dust floating around. You wonder if she’s ever made tea in her life.
“Thanks,” you say. “It’s perfect.”
Lilith nods. She takes your dirties and heads for the closet washer. You hope to God she can do laundry better than she can brew tea.
***
You notice that boxes of tea start to appear in the kitchen. Different brands, different flavors. They’re materializing each morning when you wake up, stacked increasingly higher in makeshift piles, like crude offerings.
You also notice there’s more food on your side of the fridge. You decidedly toss some frozen pizzas that were not stored in the freezer into the trash. Some fruit that’s been frozen joins them. It looks like someone took a wild guess as to how food is supposed to be stored, but all you register is there’s more food, and it's on your side, and there’s so much Goddamn tea.
It’s sweet. Fucking weird, but sweet.
***
That night, you emerge from your room to the smell of something hot and greasy. You quit your job and are looking for something that puts you in less of a dangerous position than your coffee shop. Seriously, your manager could have gotten off their ass and joined you that night. Fuck that place. You can take out another student loan. Just add it to the pile.
There’s a bag on the coffee table. You look around, but Lilith is gone again. There’s a post-in next to the bag that just says EAT. You notice there’s a receipt stapled to the side of the bag. It looks like a Doordash order, but the name on the order is Raymond, and there are red splotches on the white paper bag.
You look inside. There’s a double cheeseburger, a spilled curly fry, and a strawberry shake.
You decide the mystery of Raymond isn’t as important as how hungry you feel.
The burger tastes incredible.
You open the curtain on your patio window to look at the city lights and enjoy your meal in the kind-of dark of the apartment. You’re about to turn on the TV when Lilith unlocks the front door and steps inside. She stares at you expectantly as she stands still as a statue in the entryway.
“Is that good food?” The tone of her voice sounds less like she’s asking if you like it and more like she genuinely doesn’t know.
You nod. “It’s great. Thanks.” You actively force yourself not to ask about Raymond.
Lilith givers a stiff nod. “Are you okay?” She asks quickly. You sense her looking you over.
You nod again. Short communication seems to be Lilith’s thing. “Yeah, I’m great. How much do I owe you for the food?”
She cocks her head. “Owe?”
“Yeah. Um, the receipt says it was $23. Did you eat any?”
Lilith shakes her head. “No. I can’t eat that.”
“Oh, um, okay. Gimmie a sec and I’ll get some cash. I think I’ve got some.”
“It’s a gift.”
You pause. Lilith isn’t smiling, but she doesn’t look angry, either. She’s just doing that weird, wide-eyed blank thing that you sometimes notice her doing when you cross paths.
“Eat.” She gestures to the bag.
“Oh, well, in that case, thanks.”
Lilith slides off her shoes in the entranceway. You glance down. They’re slip-ons patterned with newspaper print. Kind of cute in a 1980’s way. You notice some blood stains across their tops.
“I was gonna watch some Hulu. You wanna join me?” You gesture to the television in an effort to ignore her footwear.
Lilith shakes her head. “I don’t like the smell,” she says. She nods towards the bag.
So, she’s not a fast-food girl. That’s cool.
She turns to go to her room. You turn your attention to the window and notice your reflection.
You only register you can’t see Lilith when you see the door to her room close by itself.
The fries are next level. You try not to think about Raymond.
***
You know better than to open the door when someone knocks, but you’re cleaning and you’ve got the music loud and you’re not sure if Lilith is a hard rock fan, so you’re taking advantage of being alone. You’re so distracted you don’t register your mistake until the door is open and Brad is standing there.
Stunned, you step back as he walks in. He hands you a bouquet of pink roses that you dumbly take. Honestly, you’re on autopilot. Is this happening? You were cleaning. Why is Brad here? How is Brad here? Didn’t Brad leave forever? Are you asleep? Is this a nightmare?
You squeeze the roses as your common sense catches up with the situation. You register he’s talking about the apartment. He’s looking around at the new posters you’ve put up, the books you have out. Brad never liked your posters, and he hated your books. Now, he’s telling you how nice they are. This doesn’t register. None of this makes any sense.
Brad smiles at you and instantly your stomach tightens. You feel like you’re going to throw up. Two years’ worth of PTSD slam into you. Memories of fights, drinking, bad, bad nights, all of it. Brad is telling you how much he misses you.
He reaches out and you recoil. He doesn’t get to do that anymore. He doesn’t belong here.
He frowns, and the smile drops. Now he’s got that look. You can’t seem to get away from that look. That coffee shop guy look. That you’re-in-trouble look. You can see what he’s thinking clear as day. He’s emboldened by being in the apartment. He tells you you’re not being fair. He keeps walking towards you.
You can smell the beer on him. It’s wafting off his clothes and on his breath. You want to vomit at the thought of that breath touching you. He needs to leave.
You tell Brad to get out and he smiles again, but it’s a very-wrong smile and you instantly have memories of when you last saw that smile and you suddenly know with a cold certainty how your day is about to go. You feel yourself lock up inside. You wonder if you can get past him to the knives in the kitchen. The silver ones your mother gave you are the sharpest. They would make him think twice, just like he did last June when he’d had one too many and you got brave.
Brad is between you and the kitchen, and you sense he’s herding you backwards towards your door. You yell at him now, ordering him to leave. He laughs you off and reaches out. You keep swatting him away and throw the flowers at him, but this makes him move faster and grip you hard by the wrist.
You let out a scream.
What happens next is a bit of a blur, but you see Brad’s head jerk backwards and Lilith’s face is suddenly beside it. You see her lunge for his neck, her mouth open wide. You watch as long, sharp teeth tear through the soft flesh of his throat like he was made of paper.
Brad flails like a wild animal in a trap, but Lilith doesn’t budge. You watch as this five-foot even girl holds a man easily six-one and two hundred twenty pounds in place as she gorges herself on his blood. Brad’s scream sounds wet and gurgled as his eyes roll back into his skull. His skin goes chalk white as he shudders violently in her arms. You’re suddenly reminded of when you saw your dad tie a fish to the side of his boat when you were a kid. The helpless flapping. The look in the creature’s eyes that said it knew on some level it was dying.
You expect Lilith to just let go, but instead she digs her fingernails into his face and yanks back even harder. You let out a small scream as she tears his head off and starts ripping chunks of Brad out of the hole where his neck had been. She devours the chunks much the same way you ate Raymond’s fries the other night.
After a few moments, Lilith seems to snap out of her feeding frenzy. She looks around, suddenly aware of her surroundings. She stands and uses the back of her hand to wipe her face off, her eyes locked on yours the entire time. She’s drenched in blood head to toe and breathing hard, but she looks terrified. She reminds you of a child that’s been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
You take a deep breath. You take several, just to savor being alive. After all, you’re not 100% sure how tonight is going to play out.
You force yourself not to look at Brad.
For a second, you wonder if you’re next. Then you remember the coffee shop guy. You remember the awkward stacks of tea and the food that was shoved in the fridge. You remember the notes.
You lock eyes with Lilith. She’s waiting for you to say something.
“So,” your voice cracks, but you do your best to stay calm. “I can clean the floor if you can take care of,” you gesture wildly at what’s left of Brad. “This.”
Who’s saying this? The thought flashes through your mind. How are you this calm? She just ate Brad. She just ate Brad!
Your mind races with thoughts of how Brad treated you. Thoughts of the smell of beer on his breath. Of the look he was giving you. Of what he was about to do.
She just ate Brad.
You suddenly realize you’re cool with that.
Lilith nods. She gathers up the pieces of Brad and slinks out the open door. You let out the biggest breath you’ve ever held and go to get the bleach and a mop. You hope your hands will stop shaking.
***
Lilith is back in twenty minutes. You’ve gone through an entire roll of paper towels and you’re out of cleaning solution, but the apartment is about 90% back to normal. Lilith is covered in blood when she comes in, but she still takes her shoes off at the door.
“I can wash those for you,” you offer. “Do you want a shower?”
Lilith nods. She hands you a bloody wad of cash you’re guessing came from Brad’s wallet. “Sorry about the mess,” she says.
Her voice drifts in and out like a cold wind through a graveyard. It sounds like autumn and clouds and dark.
Autumn is your favorite time of year. This thought stays in your mind and doesn’t leave as you listen to her voice.
“Go shower,” you manage. “Just leave your clothes out for me.”
She strips right there in the middle of the apartment. You register that this is far from the weirdest thing that’s happened in the last hour as a bloody, naked Lilith walks by you and gently shuts the bathroom door. You quickly toss her clothes in the machine and pour in way too much softener.
When she comes out, she’s wrapped in a purple towel and still a little drippy, but blood-free. Her long black hair is wrapped in a brown towel from under the sink. You notice her cheeks seem to have a little more color than normal.
She stands in front of you. You’re sitting on the couch in front of the TV. A cup of properly brewed tea is in your hands and the Hulu landing page is on the screen. Every piece of actual silver silverware is currently in the trash can.
She looks at the TV like this is the first time she’s noticed it. You suddenly realize you’ve never once seen her in the room with it on. You wonder if she even knew how to turn it on.
“Is this a Hulu?” She asks. There’s a note in her voice. She sounds... Intrigued? She drifts to the television and lightly runs her fingers over the screen. “Pretty colors,” she murmurs.
After several seconds of staring at the bright screen, she turns around and registers that you’re watching her. She stands up straight and clears her throat.
“I think,” Lilith says in a halting voice. She bites her lip. “I think we need to talk.”
You take a deep breath. You scoot on the couch to make some room, and for the first time, Lilith sits down beside you.
You sip your tea.
You’re pretty fucking sure she doesn’t want any.
There’s something off about your roommate.