My roommate is quite a character. In the scorching heat of summer during military training, when it's nearly 39 degrees Celsius, she refuses to turn on the air conditioning; she always uses my card to pay for meals; and she even spreads rumors about me. When I caught her in the act, she brought up the theory of the guilty rich. "I'm so poor and you're so wealthy, what's wrong with you accommodating me a little?" Later, when I received a scholarship, she directly went up to the school rooftop and screamed about wanting to jump off. When I went to persuade her, she accidentally fell off the rooftop and ended up with a lifelong disability. "It's all her fault! If she hadn't used her wealth to bully me, this wouldn't have happened!" I became the target of online abuse and was driven to death, and even after I died, she spread rumors that I was a escort. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the day of military training.
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.
I was never promiscuous, never even had a boyfriend, and when I confronted her, she turned the tables yet again, inciting everyone against me. "She probably got it from her sugar daddies," she'd claimed, her fans lapping up every word. It didn't take long for the harassment to escalate-acid attacks, beatings, and, finally, death.
Now I was back, and I would never fall for her traps again.
"Sharon, if you're not saying anything, I'll take it as agreement," Katie said. "Let's all stop using the AC from now on-it'll save us so much money!"
She reached for the remote again, but I stepped forward and snatched it away.
"Just because you won't use it doesn't mean no one else can. You don't get to make that decision for everyone."
Katie froze, stunned. She had never seen this side of me before. To her, I was just a naive pushover.
Ella Kirk, the resident "saint" of our dorm, immediately stepped in to defend Katie, shielding her as if I'd just raised my hand to strike her.
"Sharon, it's just air conditioning. Do you really have to make such a big deal out of it? Katie's just trying to save money for all of us," Ella said.
Ella's comment immediately drew the attention of other dorm residents, who crowded around our door to see what was going on.
Not knowing the full story, they quickly assumed I was bullying Katie. Their whispers and sideways glances spread like wildfire.
Ella, seeing the crowd, couldn't hide the smirk creeping across her face. Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
She had always loved playing the righteous savior, making grand gestures at someone else's expense.
In my last life, she'd been Katie's biggest enabler, amplifying every rumor and accusation against me.
Ella was a self-proclaimed content creator, and even after my death, she milked the scandal for all it was worth. She smeared my name, branding me a gold digger, a sugar baby, and even worse. The attention she garnered from those lies turned into a lucrative payday.
And once she tasted the sweet success of infamy, she didn't stop. She doubled down, fabricating rumors that dragged my parents into the chaos.
My parents, who had me later in life and already endured the pain of losing me, were crushed by the cyberbullying. It ruined their company, tarnished their reputation, and led to bankruptcy. In the end, unable to bear the torment, they took their own lives.
The memory of that tragic chain of events filled me with rage. I clenched my fists tightly, my nails digging into my palms, and locked eyes with Ella.
"Oh, absolutely, I'm that kind of person," I shot back sarcastically. "Tell me, what kind of saint tolerates a sweltering summer without AC or even a fan?"