Beyond the River's Edge

ater closing over my head, the desperate burn

her fake tears, the way everyone believed her over me.

, a

er. I was in my bed, in the apartment I shared with her. Sunlight

t, the familiar crack in the ceil

blic shaming, getting fired, the wh

e my confusion. A soft click, fol

tta

old dread washing over me. This wasn't

my sweet, bubbly roommate, my colleague at the design firm. She was always s

online identity, my name, my photos, and twisting them into something sordid. She posted provocative pictures-of her body,

ere vile, but

ntrol. I confronted her, begged her to stop. I told he

ust l

e'd said, flipping her hair. "They

ive. She got there first. She twisted the story, painting me as a jealous, unstable frien

rk email. The whispers at the office turned into open disgust. I was publicly humiliated, labeled as some

essional life, everything I had worked so hard for,

ed to help her "troubled" roommate. She received sympathy, praise, even a promotion. She too

ife. And then, it did. The constant harassment, the shame, the

t pulled me under, that she had wo

next room, I knew. The universe had made a mistake. It gave a

Chloe. The girl who died in that r

d, burning desire for j

ve

the clicks of her camera, I knew