Record of Reclusion

Roommates, "I'm Just Not Sure."

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Day One

Okay so, today my new roommate moved in. When I opened the door, I saw her —messy bowl cut, gigantic backpack. The jagged edges of her hair made it look like she cut it herself. If she hadn't sent me her ID earlier, I would’ve guessed she was ten, judging by her clothes. She wore a spangled T-shirt straight out of an early 2000s Target sale and a pair of cargo pants with way too many pockets.

"There was a dead spider on our doorstep. If you don’t want it... can I have it?"

"Uh, sure. Enjoy the treat."

She beamed and carefully pulled a tiny jar from a pocket near her right calf —one of many, apparently. Inside, I caught a glimpse of other lifeless insects. Holding the spider delicately between her fingers, she looked up at me.

"Can you uncap this for me? Thank you."

"Uh, yeah... so, are these a collection?"

"I just collect dead insects. I like to look at them sometimes."

I wanted to ask if she ate them too, but I figured that wasn’t the best way to start off.

I showed her around —the flat, her room, my room, the common space. Her eyes widened at everything, like a kid seeing a magic trick. Quirky as she was, she didn’t seem like a bad person. Actually, she added a thank you or sorry to almost everything she said.

"Is that everything you brought?" I asked, gesturing at her mountain of a backpack.

"Uh-huh. I like to travel and live light."

"Oooookay. Well, I hope you make yourself at home."

I'm not sure how things will go but my fingers are crossed.

Day 2

Okay so, this place was already furnished when I moved in, a reflection of my landlord’s nonexistent taste. Every piece of furniture looked thrifted —probably to cut costs. The couch was covered in cat scratches, and the tables and chairs bore dents and scuffs that hinted at their long, battered history. I had to bring my own mattress because, honestly, I had no idea where the landlord would have sourced one from. Who knows? It could’ve been crawling with bedbugs. I still remember spending hours disinfecting the furniture of unknown origin.

Tata —yes, that’s her legal name— seemed content sleeping on the floor. From her enormous rucksack, she pulled out a huge patchwork blanket. Later, I realized she just rolled herself up in it like a human burrito.

Then, as she toppled over her massive bag, she started pulling out clothes—all of them straight out of the early 2000s. Just as I was wondering how she could have so few belongings, she began unloading an endless stream of random crap from the pockets of her cargo pants: that buggy jar, a yo-yo, a kaleidoscope, a Disneyland autograph book, a pocket dictionary, candies... and more junk I didn’t even have time to process.

I can’t tell if she’s quirky or straight-up insane.

Day 3

Okay, so Tata has some weird habits—besides collecting dead bugs in her jar of doom.

First, she never closes her door. Ever. Not even when she’s changing. I don’t really mind since she’s not the type to blast music or be obnoxiously loud, but it’s still weird. It’s like she has no concept of privacy. She doesn’t care if I see her or not —if I happen to glance into her room, she just waves at me, all giddy, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Today, when my friends were over for lunch, we had the TV on, and I hesitated before saying, "Hey, you can close your door if you want."

"It’s fine! Closed doors suffocate me. Go watch your show, I’m really fine! :D"

Alright then.

Second, she makes origami boats out of literally everything—flyers, tickets, receipts, clothing tags. It’s actually kind of cute. It would be annoying if she left them all over the apartment, but she has good manners and keeps them neatly lined up on her windowsill.

One day, half-joking, I suggested she turn them into a beaded curtain. I have never seen her eyes light up like that.

"Oh, Jade! That is an absolutely splendid idea!"

And so now, she has strings of origami boats hanging from her doorframe. I don’t think she’ll be feeling too suffocated by those.

Day 4

Okay, so there was a ginormous cockroach just lounging in the corner of the living room. I screeched. There is no way I’m paying this much in rent and still dealing with cockroaches.

Tata, eyes wide and mischievous, calmly walked over —and with lightning speed, she trapped it in her only empty jar. I was stunned. I had never seen her move that fast before. Usually, she’s so chill and relaxed she might as well be a sloth.

With that same supernatural speed, she snapped the lid shut. "I'll keep this in here."

"Are... you going to take care of it?" I asked, still processing what just happened.

She didn’t even blink. "No. It’ll just suffocate in there, and I’ll record how long it takes before it dies. Then it’ll go in my dead bug jar."

Ah. So that’s what the empty jar was for.

Welp. I guess I’m grateful she’s willing to do the dirty work. I’m just not sure how to feel about the way she’s now watching the cockroach jar… with pure amazement.

Day 5

Okay, so today I walked into the bathroom and found Tata staring into the toilet bowl. My first thought: Please don’t be clogged. Please don’t be clogged.

I stepped closer to see what was up —only to spot a used condom floating in the water. Jake’s, obviously.

"Uh… sorry. I should’ve told him not to do that. Or at least flush it properly." I leaned over to grab it and toss it in the bin.

"No, just flush it," she said.

"It’ll clog the toilet."

"It won’t. It’s not big enough. I’ve seen bigger ones, and they flushed down just fine."

"...Umm. Wot? Okay… Good for you, I guess?"

Before I could process that any further, she pushed the flush handle. The condom swirled down.

"Bye-bye, fishie," she murmured.

I turned on my heel and walked straight back to Jake. I was absolutely going to slam that son of a bitch.

Day 6

Okay, so today I came home to a new smell —fry oil and sweat. I instantly frowned.

I followed the scent to the kitchen, where I found Tata making stacks and stacks of French fries. Umm… why?

"Hey! You can have some if you want!" she said cheerfully.

"Why are you making so many fries?"

"I just have an intense craving for French fries! Don’t worry, I can finish them!"

I stared at the horrendous amount of fries. I shrugged.

And to my surprise, throughout the day, she actually nibbled through every last one. I was just sure she was damn mad.

Day 7

It has been a week and I'm keep thinking I should have done an interview in advance, but I wasn’t in a position to be picky. I had been living alone in a small studio, but times were tough. The landlord notified me that she’d be raising the rent — again. I started looking for a roommate. No one called.

For a week, I gnawed at my nails, worrying about how I’d make ends meet. Just as I was about to lose hope, my phone finally rang.

"Hello? I read your ad on the campus website. Are you still looking for a roommate?"

Hell yeah, I was. And so, last Monday, she moved in.

Day 8

I had hoped that Tata and I would get along like any other roommates —shopping together, watching movies while eating pizza, just doing regular girl stuff, you know. But her odd interests made bonding… difficult.

Until today. Out of nowhere, she asked a question I never thought I’d hear from her.

"How do you make guys like you?"

What? I blinked. I thought you were asexual. I mean, not judging (totally judging), but she just didn’t seem like the type to care about that sort of thing.

"Why? Is there someone you're interested in?"

She nodded. "Yes. I met him on an online forum, and we’ve been talking for a while. We’re meeting up tomorrow, and… I don’t know how to look attractive? I guess? Can you go shopping with me?"

And so, we went shopping.

The thing was, she only thrifted. She claimed she couldn’t stand the smell of new clothes and preferred the musty, dusty scent of old ones. I didn’t mind —I loved a good thrift find now and then —but she kept gravitating toward the wildest pieces: T-shirts covered in crazy spangles, over-the-top prints, the works.

In the end, she settled on a simple cream-coloured sweater and a pair of nicely fitted jeans. It was way more my style than hers, but oh well.

Then she asked about makeup. For someone who didn’t even use lotion, her skin was immaculate. I was low-key jealous. I told her not to worry about it —I’d do her makeup tomorrow with mine.

She seemed really excited. She actually looked pretty cute when she was overjoyed.

Day 9

Okay, so today we had our first major conflict. Tata went on her first date this evening and came back way sooner than I expected.

"How did it go?" I asked.

"I liked him! He looked like a giant teddy bear. But he had to leave early because he had a dinner thing."

"A dinner thing?"

"Yeah. I asked if I could join, but he said it was just a guys' night. They were watching football."

Uh… yeah. I reckoned she might not have picked up on the social cue there.

Then, suddenly, her eyes sparked. "Do you think he was lying because he didn’t find me attractive?"

"Ah… no? I don’t know."

"I should check his social media. If he really went out with his friends, he must’ve posted something, right?"

I shrugged and walked away. Not my problem.

But around 1 a.m., I found her still up, her face glowing under the fluorescent light of her laptop screen, eyes twinkling with unsettling intensity.

"Are you not sleeping?"

"He wasn’t just with the guys. There were girls too. I found a photo of him at a bar posted on his friend’s account. I should visit him and ask why he lied."

I jumped. "Wait —what? No! That’s stalking. You’ll get in trouble. Also, wait, how do you even know where he lives?"

She turned her screen toward me. "See this photo? It was taken in his room. Through the window, I can see a church. And he once mentioned there’s a convenience store on the corner of his block. So I’m guessing he lives either here or here." She pointed at a map. "Most likely here, because he told me he lives in a shared house, and this building’s floor plan makes more sense for that."

I was both amazed and terrified. "You know that’s illegal, right? Stalking people?"

She burst out, furious. "I didn’t stalk him! I’m just sitting in my room!"

"And you traced his address. That’s cyberstalking. If you actually go to his place, that’s real stalking."

"Mind your own business."

I saw her glance at me, noticed my face go red, then back to calm. I turned and walked away. What a creep.

Day 10

It’s been ten days since Tata moved in, and here are my thoughts:

Day 11

We haven’t spoken since two days ago —since I called her out for stalking. She still hasn’t gone out, so I guess she never actually went to visit her date. That’s a relief. But every time I catch a glimpse of her through the beaded curtain, she’s glued to her laptop, her expression unusually serious.

She doesn’t wave like before. Actually, I don’t think she even notices me. I’m pretty sure she hasn’t stepped once outside her room. How is she even eating? I want to ask if she’s okay, but the way she’s staring so intensely at the screen stops me. Better not engage

Day 12

So today, Tata’s parents showed up. At first, I thought they were church missionaries. I mean, they looked like the type —her mother wore a giant cross necklace, and her father was literally holding a Bible. (Who just casually carries a Bible?)

Tata wasn’t home when they arrived. (Gone where? I’m starting to worry as I write this.)

"Hello, does Tatianna Livingston live here?"

"You mean Tata? No, I’m afraid she’s out. I’m Jade, her roommate."

Her mother pursed her lips. "I suppose she insists on using that rudimentary, self-acclaimed name."

"I guess so, my blueberry honey pie," her father replied, then turned to me. "Say, do you go to church, my dear?"

"Umm… nope."

He pulled a booklet from his Bible and handed it to me. "Well then, why don’t you read this? Or better yet, we could read it together while we wait for Tatianna to return."

I glanced at the cover. "Faith = Heaven, Ignorance = Hell" —in giant print.

"Uh, no, I gotta go soon. But you’re welcome to wait inside for her."

They exchanged that knowing look—the kind street preachers give when they’ve been rejected one too many times.

"No, it’s fine," her mother said, snatching the booklet back. "We’ll wait at a nearby café. Goodbye, Ms. Jade."

I closed the door and wondered if rudeness ran in the family. Then another thought hit me —why did they even want to see Tata? She had nothing in common with them. I had never pegged her as the religious type. Maybe she ran away from her crazy evangelical parents, and now they’d come to take her back.

Day 13

At dawn, she came home —with a motorcycle helmet.

I was up early, getting ready to catch a train to another city for a job interview. Just as I was about to leave, around 5 a.m., Tata walked in. The helmet she carried had a massive scratch on it, like it had barely survived a serious accident.

It made me wonder —what the hell had happened to the owner of that helmet?

"Hey, where were you last night?" I asked.

"Oh, with Teddy! You know, my date from last week."

"Oh? So… you two are dating now?"

"Yeah! We’re together forever!"

I wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but I was too worried about missing my train to dig into it. I told her goodbye and rushed out.

When I got home later that day, Tata —and all of her stuff— was gone.

Even the helmet.

Day 14

Today, I turned on the TV and saw breaking news.

CCTV footage showed a young woman stepping into the street around 3 a.m. two nights ago —right into the path of a speeding motorcycle. The biker swerved just in time to avoid hitting her, but he crashed into a lamp post. He was badly injured. The footage continued. The woman walked over to the fallen biker, handed him a jar of water, took his helmet, and left. The man died soon after. The autopsy confirmed poisoning. Now, the police were searching for the woman.

It was Tata. And the jar? That jar The one where she kept all kinds of dead bugs.

A shiver ran down my spine.

Crazy. Bitch.

I’m so glad she left. Yeah, I’ll have to deal with the rent alone for now. But I’ll get the job. And then I’ll move the hell out of this city. Away from that psycho.

Review

I played Roommates: I'm Just Not Sure by BrambleBerry Games over the past two weeks. Tata, my character, ended up being an amalgamation of all the true crime documentaries I binged last year.

In real life, I’ve only had one roommate —during my first semester of university. Looking back, I think I was the weird one. The first time we met was when I woke up in the afternoon, painfully hungover from the Freshman Party. My bed was covered in twigs, and she casually informed me that some guy had carried me back. So yeah, you can probably guess who the crazy one was.

That semester, I barely went to class. My major didn’t interest me, and I remember my roommate heading out every morning with this slightly doubtful look, as if silently questioning my entire existence. Once, we visited the palace together —an only moment of shared experience. But by the end of the semester, I barely saw her. I often missed curfew, which meant I couldn’t get back into the dorm.

She was utterly boring. Or at least, that’s how I remember her. But maybe that’s just because, in this story, I was the Tata.