“Close the door, for fucks sake!” Patrick’s voice cracked with panic as he scrambled to grab his camera from the nightstand. He yanked the blanket up to cover himself while hastily kicking aside the various items scattered across his bed.

You and Patrick had been college dorm roommates for a couple of semesters now. Over time, the two of you had grown close—sharing the same circle of friends, spending countless evenings hanging out, and learning to coexist in the small confines of your shared space.

It wasn’t unusual to spend hours watching movies or hosting impromptu get-togethers with friends in your dorm room. But somehow, through all those moments, you missed the signs.

Art’s constant comments about Patrick being loaded, the two laughing it off. Tashi’s casual jokes about Patrick needing a filming partner, patrick going home with Tashi those nights. You laughed it off, thinking nothing of it. Oh, how naïve you were.

Patrick sprang into action as you slammed the door shut behind you, your scream still reverberating through the hallway. He tugged on a pair of sweatpants with frantic urgency, shoving the scattered items off the bed and into the narrow space between the wall and mattress.

His hands fumbled as he reached for his phone, stopping the recording just in time. In a blur, Patrick was at the door again. This time, he grabbed the collar of your shirt and dragged you inside, slamming the door shut and locking it in one swift motion.

“You didn’t see anything,” he said, voice low and sharp. His hand hovered near your chest, blocking any attempt to leave. “Not a fucking word. Got it?” His wide eyes darted between you and the door, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife.