Althea

My roommate, Katie Smith, was a nightmare.

In the middle of summer, during our mandatory Sports Boot Camp, with the temperature hovering around 100°F, she refused to turn on the air conditioning. She always used my meal card for food, spread vile rumors about me, and topped it off with her "poor girl, rich girl" rhetoric whenever I confronted her.

"I'm broke, and you're loaded. What's the big deal about letting me have my way?" she'd retort smugly.

Later, when I received a scholarship, Katie took her antics to the extreme. She climbed onto the school rooftop, threatening to jump. When I went to stop her, she slipped and fell, ending up permanently disabled.

"It's all her fault!" she screamed from her hospital bed. "If she hadn't bullied me with her money, I wouldn't be like this!"

The internet believed her, of course. I became the target of relentless online abuse. Eventually, the hate drove me to my death. Even after I was gone, she continued to defame me, branding me as a sugar baby.

But now, by some twist of fate, I was given another chance.

1

"No, we can't turn on the air conditioning. It's bad for girls—it'll make us infertile. Only boys should use AC," Katie said, her voice ringing with the kind of absurd confidence only she could muster.

I stared at her, momentarily stunned as she reached for the remote, clearly intending to smash it. The room, the heat, her smug expression—it all felt nauseatingly familiar.

Then it hit me: I had been given another chance. I was back to that sweltering day during Sports Boot Camp, the day everything began to go downhill.

In my previous life, I had argued with Katie over the air conditioning. Her refusal to budge in the face of logic—despite temperatures soaring above 100°F—had sparked a conflict that spiraled out of control. She had retaliated by accusing me of bullying her, spreading rumors that I was some sugar baby who got dropped off in fancy cars. When I confronted her, she doubled down on her lies.

"I'm from the countryside and can't afford luxuries like AC. Why are you even arguing with me? And you do get out of those expensive cars. I'm not lying," she'd said with a mocking shrug.

Talking sense into someone like Katie had been futile. I tried protecting myself by documenting everything, recording videos to prevent further manipulation. But no amount of caution prepared me for what came next.

Once, I washed my new underwear and hung it out to dry. Knowing she had a habit of wearing others' clothes, I specifically reminded her not to wear mine.

"Katie, these are personal items. Please don't wear mine."

Katie had nodded earnestly, only to turn around and wear my underwear the next day. That was when the unthinkable happened.

I tested positive for HIV. So did she.