Process Analysis: How To Get rid of a Roommate: Without Committing a Crime

As I helplessly watch my fifteen year old roommate fall to pieces in front of me, I feel everything around me slow to a crawl. Blood pounds my ear drums, I feel the color drain from my cheeks, and my feet take me forward as if they have a mind of their own. I fall to my knees and suddenly everything speeds up again – the pounding in my ear drums intensifies, my hands are trembling but I manage to grasp the side of the bed in an attempt to bring myself close to her. Her face is buried into her sheet. Muffled screaming escapes her as I whisper gentle reassurances in her ear, hoping with everything I have that she can hear me. I know she doesn’t. Even if she does, she can’t make sense of it right now. She’s stuck somewhere else, somewhere she revisits every day of her life and every time she closes her eyes to sleep.

“I guess we will need a bed,” she commented “we can 't expect anything from her.” She mumbled under her breath.

I'm so excited,” I lie again. When will the truth ever escape my lips? I walk to Rachel's house stunned. I hear the screaming even before I put my hand on the door handle. I bolt into the mansion, frantically looking for my wife. The screaming worsens, impairing my hearing, like knives being thrown at my head. The noise is coming from upstairs. In a panic, I sprint up to our room. As soon as a come to the doorway, a pungent odor hits my nose. A turn my head to the left. There, I see Rachel. Crumpled on the bathroom floor, like a used piece of paper. Blood covers the bathroom floor, looking like a red swamp. The blue tiles are masked by the sea of red. I walk over to her tentatively. I examine the bathroom. My eardrums feel as though they are about to burst. My eyes meet the toilet. There's something in it. The white basin is white no more. Something is floating in the toilet. I realize what it is. I reach for the phone as quick as lightning. I practically punch the buttons in the phone to call the doctor. “Doctor! Doctor! You need to come to our house right now! My wife is losing blood and my baby, my baby!” I scream into the phone. The doctor attempts to calm me down, but it is no use. He will come as soon as possible. Rachel looks beaten, all of the energy and power taken out of her. I dare to cross the bathroom floor to Rachel. My tennis shoes stick to the floor like glue. I tenderly touch her. I carry her to the bath to wash her off. The

“Now go wash up and head to your bed, clean the room too, and oh wait I almost forgot bring your laundry basket. Take a good bath after that you hear me” she hollers. Again

Feeling thwarted in every effort to set circumstances right, in my life - not between us, becomes intense with patterns and connections. Illuminating my mind, emulating the strings from ballistics in a crime scene, or worse, a schizophrenic’s garage, complete with wall covered newspaper clippings and red marker lines that model no reality but chaos. My connections are evidence based, empirically proven models of physical systems; my subjective realizations were at least based on such arrangements and configurations, architectures and harmonies. Between the visits to the women trying to help me I have assignments. The next two weeks include writing my strengths, progress in the past year, and compliments. One of those is your supportive, wonderful email that doling out strokes for learning proper grammar. That felt

I haven’t been able to sleep for the past month. I hear my door creak and I look at the door. I see someone open the door very slowly before coming in. I look to see Maria tiptoeing into my room. “What are you doing?” I ask “You know your mom would kill me if she saw us.”

Once the alarm went off, both girls groaned wanting to sleep for another hour. Unfortunately, dinner with the Hollis' was happening very shortly. Both girls got out of their bed and walked over to the bathroom to freshen up. Carmilla washed her face as Laura brushed her teeth, vice versa. Once they we're woken up, Carmilla walked over to her dresser while Laura walked over to her closet. Laura pulled out a lovely form fitting black dress that showed off her neck and her toned arms. Carmilla slid into her infamous leather pants, threw on a black tank, and topped it with a black blazer with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. "Hey Laura, can you pass me my red heels?"

“I’d let you use my bed, but seeing as you didn’t let me use yours when I stayed with you, it seems only fair.” Kimberly knew he was only saying it in jest and she waved him off. She would sleep on the floor if he made her. The couch was comfortable enough anyway.

“I figured they would be,” he chuckles, then continues on, “you can sleep in my bed tonight and I’ll take the couch?”. As soon as the words “i’ll take the couch came out of his mouth you started to argue. Finally, after about an hour of arguing it was decided that you would indeed sleep in his bed with the promise that next time we have a sleepover he gets the bed.

“You need rest. You’re drunk and you’ll be sore in the morning” Joseph said, sliding his hands away and helping Paul up. “I can sleep on the couch, it’s fine” Paul protested but Joseph shook his head “There’s no way I’m letting you sleep on that thing. I don’t have a guest room, so you’ll have to settle with sharing my bed tonight.” Joseph said, not giving Paul any time for a rebuttal, leading him up the stairs and to the bedroom.

“Ugh.” She groaned. She got up and showered. Then she walked back into her bedroom and found a note on her bed.

She strutted along the Broadwalk, as her charming hazel, hair glistened in the cool wind. She was putting her sunglasses over her chocolate brown eyes when she spotted Chris Mustard, her jerk husband, out of the corner of her eye. A feeling of fury bolted through her. This was the wicked man that left her in debt. This was the wicked man that left her to take care of their child on her own. Then, she saw something she wasn’t expecting, another woman. That

Feeling a hand pet her head, S/O assumed it was Kalifa. Suddenly, knowing her girlfriend was so close, it became hard to keep a relaxed and sleeping face. As her cheeks began to heat up. “What’s this?” they heard Kalifa say, removing the gift that was in S/O’s lap. “For me?” Kalifa said, seeing their name was written on the nicely wrapped gift. Time seemed to slow down as she could hear the gift being unwrapped. Everyone else in the room has gathered around the couple to see what the gift was. S/O could hear Kalifa gasp, in their hands was a homemade scrapbook contained of all their dating memories and friendship members. With paragraphs that seemed to be like a diary or the first person point of view of S/O. It was nicely decorated and towards the middle the pages were blank, but had a separate piece of paper that said, “I would be honored if you helped me fill in the rest of this scrapbook.” Kalifa had the biggest smile that anyone had ever seen, “Oh, S/O! Thank you!” S/O began to smile before realizing she had just given up the gig that she was pretending to sleep. “That’s okay S/O, I knew you were fake sleeping the whole time!” Kalifa

I dreaded coming home, it was the worst thing I could imagine and as i grew the feeling didn’t change. I would get out of bed quietly not wanting to wake up my mother, my bruises are still healing from yesterday’s beatings. I go to my closet and put on a black, long-sleeved shirt to cover up the scars, a pair of jeans to cover the hurt and a pair of hand-me-down sneakers. I quickly tip-toe past my mom’s room, only to see her lying there, sound asleep with an empty wine glass slowly slipping out of her hand. I grab my book bag and walk out the door and to the bus stop. I walked through the hallways, to each class and I hear the nasty comments and the rumors, secretly believing every word they say. I walked to lunch a sit alone as people pull

Ellie and I lay in our beds, neither one of us knew what to say. In the other room, our host parents were arguing. We didn’t know what about, but we knew it was serious. Then we heard a “THWACK” followed by silence. Ellie and I sat up in our beds and looked at each other, I could tell she was as scared as I was. “Was that? Did he just?” she asked me. Then the arguing started back up again. We calmed back down until we heard it again. “THWACK” We knew then, the noise we heard, was him beating her. We got up, our hearts racing; neither of us knew what to do. We got our nerves together to go get help. When we opened the door to our room we saw the children sitting on the couch crying out for their mother. I could see the fear in their face and I knew something needed to change.