I Dated My Roommate’s Ex and Regretted Everything

A year ago, my roommate ended her relationship.

I used to watch how that guy treated her, soaking up his every act of devotion

with a quiet, burning envy.

Eventually, we found our way to each other. He was gentle, orchestrating my life

with a seamless precision, yet there was always this invisible wall of cold

detachment between us.

Half a year of this lukewarm existence dragged on before something in him

finally shifted. I was overjoyed, foolishly believing my absolute sincerity had

finally melted the ice around his heart.

Until the holidays, when he unexpectedly ran into her. Under the explosive light

of winter fireworks, the truth hit me hard. He had never really let her go.

The reason I got together with Sebastian was agonizingly simple.

I loved the way he cared for my roommate. It was a quiet, unassuming warmth.

Back in our dorm days, I had a front-row seat to their long-term romance,

standing on the sidelines like a voyeur, envying her and everything she

possessed.

Even her name. Hunter.

It didn't sound like a girl's name, but it held her father's greatest wish for

her. To be the hunter, clear in her direction, never having to bend her will or

alter her course for anyone else.

And my name was Grace.

The phrase my father drilled into my head the most was to be graceful, sweet,

and compliant. What I mastered was the art of keeping people happy.

So when I saw Hunter throwing a fit outside our dorm because Sebastian was

running late, my chest tightened. Sebastian just brushed her forehead

affectionately and pulled a pastry box out of his bag like a magician. It was a

viral croissant from a Soho bakery that required a five-hour wait in line.

Hunter took exactly one bite and handed it back to him without missing a beat.

"I hate hazelnut. Remember what I like and don't like."

Sebastian just smiled and said he would.

I was stunned, and then a wave of bitter sourness washed over me. Because if it

had been me, I would have pretended to love it. In my world, pleasing someone

meant being loved, or at least being loved a little more.

But Hunter didn't need to play that game. She just needed to exist as herself,

and someone would love her unconditionally.

Sebastian and Hunter broke up right around graduation. It rained heavily that

day, and he stood outside our building in the downpour for a very long time.

A year later, I ran into him at a dinner party. He was genuinely surprised to

hear I had also graduated from Columbia. It made sense. Back then, his eyes were

entirely filled with Hunter. He probably never even registered my existence. I

was just that small, that invisible.

So when he actively started pursuing me later, I hesitated. I knew there was a

space in his heart that could never be overwritten.

But in the end, I nodded.

I just wanted to know what it felt like to be treated that way. To feel the

weight of being firmly chosen, to be indulged, to have my preferences memorized,

to be treated like the center of someone's universe. All those things I had

spied on from the dorm window. I wanted a taste.

Once we got together, Sebastian treated me well. Impeccably well.

Whenever my cramps flared up, a hot water bottle and ginger tea were already

waiting. If I worked late, he was parked downstairs, never complaining. Flowers

on holidays, thoughtful gifts on birthdays. He covered every base.

But once I actually had him, something felt incredibly off.

He rarely showed any raw emotion. He spent most of his time wrapped in silence,

lost in thoughts he refused to share with me. We treated each other with the

polite courtesy of esteemed guests rather than lovers.

The old Sebastian was so vibrant. He used to get nervous when Hunter was mad. He

would laugh and coax her when she said the wrong thing. He would get visibly

upset if she stayed out too late. I used to hear him through the dorm walls,

eagerly telling Hunter what he ate for lunch and what funny thing he saw on the

street.

With me, he was perpetually mild, proper, and lukewarm.

A year into our relationship, he had never once volunteered a random detail

about his day. It felt like he was fulfilling the duties of a boyfriend rather

than actually loving a person.

Sometimes, deep in the night, I would find him sitting out on the balcony. The

glowing ember of his cigarette illuminated his face in the dark, his expression

unreadable. He was the youngest Managing Director in his region, a man who

strategized multimillion-dollar deals without breaking a sweat. What could

possibly make him look so profoundly lost?

Only Hunter, I figured.

When the ache got too heavy, I would ask myself what I even liked about him. The

answer terrified me. Maybe I didn't actually like him at all.

Maybe I just wanted a lover who wouldn't push me away. Someone who would let me

be myself and still love me fiercely, just the way he had loved Hunter.

But Sebastian never gave me that chance.

One day, I tested the waters. "What kind of girls do you actually like?"

He looked at me and said he liked girls like me. Quiet. Well-behaved. He hated

high-maintenance girls.

He practically listed every trait that was the exact opposite of Hunter.

A tiny fracture split open in my chest right then. Because I had seen what he

looked like when he was truly in love.

It wasn't this. It wasn't built on a foundation of convenience and peace.

But I swallowed the lie anyway. I wanted to make a bet with myself. I boxed up

all my messy emotions and played the role of the perfect, understanding

girlfriend to the absolute extreme. I wanted to know if being considerate

enough, if being the anti-Hunter, could buy the devotion I was starving for. And

if it did, would I even be happy?

We drifted along in this painless, numb state for another six months.

One weekend, I made plans with a friend to catch a movie. We picked a theater

exactly halfway between us so it was fair. Right before I left the house, my

phone buzzed.

"Grace, there's a new IMAX theater doing a promo nearby. The tickets are super

cheap!"

I opened the link. It was a five-minute walk from her apartment, but over an

hour's drive for me. Her text sounded so excited, though. I didn't want to ruin

the mood.

When I finally arrived, I texted asking where she was.

"Still on the road. Traffic is a nightmare."

I stood there for fifteen minutes. My phone buzzed again.

"The weather app says it's going to pour. Should we just skip it?"

I stared at the glowing letters. I slowly backspaced my drafted reply of "I'm

already here."

"Yeah, let's just do it another time. It's a pretty far drive for me anyway."

She replied instantly. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry! Drinks are on me next time!"

I texted back a smiley face.

Standing out on the pavement in front of the theater, I suddenly felt the urge

to laugh at myself. I had done it again. I swallowed the words someone else was

too coward to say, handed them a perfect out, and absorbed all the inconvenience

they refused to carry. It was as natural as breathing. It was a pathetic

instinct.

I texted Sebastian. "Where are you?"

He replied quickly. "Meeting with a supplier. How's the movie?"

I locked my screen. The thing adults are best at is keeping their mouths shut at

the worst possible times.

I didn't go home. I wandered the streets aimlessly until I walked past an exotic

pet shop.

In the glass display sat a lizard. It was ash-brown, its scales looking like a

cracked, dry riverbed. It lay completely motionless on a piece of driftwood.

While the other animals scrambled around, it just sat there in absolute

stillness.

I stared at it for a long time.

It didn't exist to please anyone. You get close, it doesn't flinch. You ignore

it, it doesn't beg for attention. Its emotions belong entirely to itself. It

requires no comforting, and it certainly won't comfort you.

I wanted it.

Not because it would provide emotional support, but precisely because it

wouldn't. There would be no expectations between us. No draining demands.

I couldn't achieve that kind of simplicity, but this creature could do it for

me.

"I'll take him."

The shop owner blinked in surprise. "A lot of girls think they're cool but get

scared of them once they're home. This is a living thing, you know. You have to

commit."

"I'm not scared," I said.

When Sebastian came home and saw "Duke" in the living room, his expression was

incredibly hard to read. He leaned close to the glass tank, staring at the

lizard perched on the wood.

"You bought this?"

"Yeah."

"You're not afraid of it?"

"No."

He looked up at me and smiled. It was a genuinely soft smile. He reached out and

lightly tapped my forehead.

"You look so delicate. Who knew you were into cold-blooded reptiles. What's his

name?"

"Duke."

The corner of his mouth twitched upward. It was subtle, but I caught it. "Pretty

arrogant name."

"He earns it."

Sebastian nodded. He pulled out his phone and immediately ordered a premium heat

mat and specialized calcium powder, stating that Duke would need them.

"How do you know that?" I asked. "Did you research it?"

He paused, as if weighing whether to tell the truth.

"Yeah," he finally said. "I used to have one. I gave it away."

"Why?"

"Someone was scared of it."

I didn't say a word.

He didn't elaborate either. He just pocketed his phone and looked at me. "You

never answered me earlier. How was the movie?"

The moment he asked, something inside me cracked. The floodgates holding back my

humiliation and exhaustion just gave way. Tears spilled over my eyelashes.

Sebastian actually looked startled. But he quickly masked it, stepping close to

wipe the tears from my cheeks.

"What's wrong? Was the movie that bad?"

I opened my mouth. I wanted to tell him I got stood up. I wanted to tell him I

waited outside like an idiot for nothing.

But the words that came out were...

"Yeah. It was bad."

He pulled me firmly into his chest. He rested his chin on the top of my head,

one hand cradling the back of my neck. His voice was a low murmur.

"If it was that bad, we just won't watch movies like that anymore."

His other hand patted my back in a slow, rhythmic motion, the way you soothe a

frightened child.

My mind flashed back to my childhood. Whenever I was upset, I desperately wanted

my parents to hold me the way other kids were held. Instead, they would scold

me, making me feel like my sadness was a burden, an emotion I hadn't earned the

right to express.

The memory made me cry harder. I completely ruined the front of his shirt.

By the time I pulled myself together and looked up, the fabric over his chest

was soaked and severely wrinkled. I sniffled, suddenly feeling incredibly

embarrassed.

He glanced down at the wet patch on his chest, said absolutely nothing, and just

used his thumb to wipe a stray tear off my jaw.

"This shirt is designer. You're going to have to pay for that."

My voice was thick and raspy. "I make a good salary. Send me the bill."

I immediately wired him fifteen hundred dollars from my phone.

Sebastian was notoriously picky about his wardrobe. He never compromised on

fabric or tailoring. Any random piece pulled from his closet was worth half my

monthly rent. But the infuriating part was how effortlessly he wore it all, like

those absurdly expensive clothes were custom-grown for his body.

He flicked my forehead lightly.

"You little brat. You used our joint Amex account to pay me back. You're using

my money to pay for my ruined shirt."

I suddenly remembered he had re-routed my primary payment method to his card the

month prior.

He caught my expression and let out a genuine laugh. "Do I really look that

desperate for cash to you?"

His smile slowly faded, replaced by a grounded sincerity.

"If you're upset and don't want to talk about it, I'm not going to force it out

of you. But I really hope you learn to let it out eventually. You can choke back

your tears and swallow your voice, but whatever it is you're keeping bottled up

is rotting something inside you. And only you know what that is."

He didn't press any further. He just softly asked, "Are you hungry? I'll make us

something."

I nodded. "I want pasta. With two fried eggs."

"Done."

His smile was breathtaking.

But I never ended up eating that pasta.

By the time Sebastian came out of the kitchen to get me, I was shivering on the

couch, half-delirious. Getting caught in the cold rain earlier had triggered a

brutal fever.

When he reached out to check my forehead, I instinctively flinched away.

In my past, getting sick always started with my father's explosive lectures. He

would scream about how irresponsible I was, how I was too old to not know how to

take care of myself. Only after breaking me down would the pity show up in his

eyes.

I braced for the scolding, but it never came. Sebastian just turned around,

grabbed a cool, damp towel, placed it gently over my brow, and coaxed me into

swallowing some ibuprofen.

Lying there, I listened to the sounds of the kitchen. The rhythmic chopping, the

water boiling, the soft clatter of a wooden spoon against a pot.

A long time passed before he walked in holding a bowl of soup. He sat on the

edge of the mattress, stirring the broth and blowing on it to cool it down

before lifting the spoon to my lips.

"Open."

It was extremely late by the time he finished cooking. He could have easily

ordered delivery on a corporate card, but he knew I loved his cooking, so he

made it from scratch despite his exhaustion.

He fed me spoon by spoon, never rushing. When the bowl was empty, he took a

tissue and carefully dabbed the corner of my mouth. Then he pulled the heavy

duvet up to my chin, tucking me in securely. He rested his warm palm against my

forehead, his thumb stroking my hairline.

"Go to sleep. I'm right here."

His voice was a deep, quiet anchor in the room.

I closed my eyes, my fever-addled brain drifting into a hazy thought. Is this

what love is supposed to be?

I suppose so.

I thought I could survive the rest of my life like this.

From that night on, the air between us felt different.

When the winter holidays hit, I drove Sebastian to the airport. He pinched my

nose playfully at the drop-off zone.

"It's freezing out here. You really didn't have to drive me all the way down

here."

I didn't say anything. I just threw my arms around his neck and hugged him

tight. This was the first time we were going to be apart for an extended period.

I hated letting him go, but there was a sick, secret thrill to it. I wanted to

see if the distance would make him miss me. I wanted to see if he would panic,

if he would finally be the one reaching out first.

I was dead wrong.

The moment his flight landed, he basically dropped off the face of the earth. I

forced myself not to text him the first day. Around midnight, I got a generic

"I'm home" text. After that, absolute radio silence.

During my family's holiday dinner, I stared blankly at my phone, waiting for his

name to pop up on the screen.

The house was packed with relatives. At the dinner table, my dad started

recounting stories from my childhood, bragging to the aunts and uncles about how

docile, obedient, and completely hassle-free I had always been.

Then he looked at me and sighed. "But look at her now."

A suffocating wave of panic gripped my throat.

I excused myself to my childhood bedroom and made the very first rebellious

decision of my entire existence.

At 2 AM, I booked the earliest flight upstate to his hometown. I packed a

massive duffel bag full of specialty foods from my city, desperate to share them

with him.

During the three-hour flight, the window showed nothing but the pitch-black sky

and my own tired reflection in the glass. My hair was a mess, but the thought of

seeing Sebastian's face ignited a warm, buzzing energy in my chest. The world

was massive, but right now, I only wanted him.

By 9 AM, I was standing outside his upscale apartment complex.

My heart fluttering, I typed out a message. "I'm downstairs."

Nothing.

I hesitated, wondering if I should call him. Out of the corner of my eye, I

caught movement on a wooden bench near the courtyard entrance.

Sebastian was sitting there.

Hunter's head was resting heavily on his shoulder.

She looked like she was crying, her shoulders shaking in small, violent tremors.

Sebastian had his arm wrapped securely around her. His other hand was gently

stroking her hair. Neither of them spoke. They just sat there, glued together in

the cold morning air.

I stood behind the thick trunk of an oak tree, the winter chill sinking straight

into my marrow.

My phone vibrated in my palm.

A text from Sebastian. "I'm not home right now."

I looked up.

His hand was still firmly pressed against the small of Hunter's back. He hadn't

let go for a single second. And he definitely hadn't noticed me.

I turned around and walked away in absolute silence.

I knew Sebastian had just been sentenced to death in my heart, but the sheer

logic of it didn't stop the excruciating pain.

I have zero memory of how I bought the return ticket or boarded the train back

into the city. I only remember my hands and feet feeling like blocks of ice, my

nose stinging from the bitter wind.

On the train, an elderly woman sitting next to me noticed the bulging duffel bag

in my lap. She smiled warmly. "Sweetheart, did your boyfriend buy you all those

treats? He must really love you."

I nodded slowly. "Yeah. He really does."

The scenery whipped past the window like a broken film reel. The gray northern

sky, the skeletal trees, the patches of dirty snow on distant rooftops. Inside

the train, the atmosphere was loud and cheerful. It was the holidays, after all.

People were glowing with joy.

I sat glued to the window, absorbing the desolate winter outside while drowning

in the noise inside. I suddenly wanted to scream and cry until my throat gave

out.

The universe is so endlessly vast, and I am so pathetically small. The world was

spinning perfectly on its axis, completely unaffected by the fact that my entire

life had just collapsed.

I pulled out my phone and typed a message to him.

"Sebastian, I miss you so much."

I missed him like I was dying of thirst. I knew I should be screaming in rage,

but my heart was still begging for him. I despised myself for it.

He didn't call until much later that evening.

I answered, and his voice flowed through the speaker, smooth and gentle as

always. "Where are you right now?"

I sniffled. Crying for hours had wrecked my vocal cords. "At home."

I paused, clutching the phone. "I was just messing with you this morning. I

never left the apartment."

Maybe I couldn't stomach the reality of what I had seen. Maybe I just refused to

look that pathetic. So I lied.

"Good. Look out your window. Come downstairs?"

My heart slammed against my ribs. I practically ripped the curtains open.

Sebastian was standing under the streetlamp below my apartment. He was wearing a

charcoal wool overcoat, looking up at my window with a breathtakingly soft

smile.

"It's freezing. Put a coat on before you come down."

I flew down the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. The entire way down,

my brain spun with scenarios of how I was going to confront him. But the second

I burst through the lobby doors and saw him, all my defenses crumbled into dust.

I just looked at him, and the tears betrayed me, spilling over my cheeks.

I launched myself into his chest.

Sebastian wrapped his arms around me, patting my back steadily. He didn't ask

why I was crying. Instead, he pulled a small paper box from a boutique bag.

"Basque burnt cheesecake. Just like I promised."

I took the box with trembling hands. But the air around him felt heavy. The

conversation wasn't over.

He looked down at me, his gaze painfully serious.

"Grace, there is something I need to tell you face to face."

He paused. His voice was still dipped in that same gentleness, but there was a

heavy, suffocating finality to it.