Sage stared at the housing office door. Her hands were clammy. She rubbed them down the sides of her jeans, took a deep breath, and stepped inside.
The office had fluorescent lighting, beige walls.
Behind the desk sat a woman with graying braids coiled into a bun, typing. Her name tag read "Mrs. Holloway." She looked up, gave a tight smile, and nodded.
"Yes?"
"Hi, um…" Sage cleared her throat. "I'd like to request a roommate change."
Mrs. Holloway blinked once, then gestured to a laminated sign posted to the left of her monitor. "Have you filled out the Roommate Conflict Resolution Form?"
Sage hesitated. "Not yet, but—"
"That's the first step. You'll find the form on the university portal. Submit that, then we schedule mediation. After that, we assess whether a reassignment is warranted."
Sage's lips pressed into a line. She had read all this already. She'd scoured the student handbook at 3 a.m. after yet another shouting match with Jaxon.
"I already did the mediation," Sage said. "We tried that. It didn't work."
Mrs. Holloway's hands stilled on the keyboard. "What was the outcome?"
"He agreed to keep things down but didn't."
"Did you report violations after that?"
Sage exhaled. "I didn't know I had to. I just… I thought I could talk to someone."
"You're talking to me now," Mrs. Holloway said gently but firmly. "But if there were continued issues, they should have been documented. Without records, it's hard to approve a move."
Sage's nails dug into her palm. "He's exhausting and i can't keep pretending it's normal."
Mrs. Holloway sighed and swiveled slightly in her chair. "Listen, I'm not saying I don't believe you. I've handled dozens of cases like this. But housing is tight this semester. We're at 98% capacity. We can't reassign unless there's a clear and ongoing threat, or if a medical condition requires it. Have you spoken with the campus counselor?"
"I'm not asking for therapy. I'm asking for space."
"I understand, but the policies are there to keep things fair. If we moved everyone based on interpersonal tension, we'd have chaos."
Sage sat down abruptly in one of the plastic chairs. Her legs didn't trust her to stay upright.
"He poured soda on my bed once," she said quietly, lying to see if at all it would help.
Mrs. Holloway raised an eyebrow. "Did you report it?"
"No. I didn't want to escalate things."
"Then there's no record. I'm sorry."
"I just need my space, that's all"Sage said faking a sad look.
Mrs. Holloway's expression softened. She folded her hands. "Let me check the system."
She clicked through several tabs, her eyes scanning lines of data. Sage stared at the edge of the desk.
Finally, Mrs. Holloway looked back at her.
"There's one open bed in Westwood Hall," she said. "But it's temporary—reserved for emergency maintenance displacements. Not for roommate conflicts."
Sage sat up. "But it's open."
"It is, but that doesn't mean it's available. If a pipe bursts or mold is discovered, we need somewhere to relocate students. We can't assign those unless it's critical."
"And my situation isn't critical?"
Mrs. Holloway hesitated. "It's… uncomfortable. But not critical."
Sage's jaw clenched. "So I have to wait until he does something worse?"
"No. You need to keep documenting the behavior. If he violates rules, report it. If it escalates, let us know. If it becomes unsafe, we'll act. But a single student's word without corroboration isn't enough to initiate a reassignment during high occupancy."
"This isn't about occupancy. This is about you not believing me."
Mrs. Holloway's eyes narrowed slightly. "I believe you're distressed, Sage. But our hands are tied without a pattern of documented violations."
Sage rose slowly, her body buzzing with suppressed anger. "What if I lie? What if I say he hit me?"
Mrs. Holloway's fingers paused mid-keystroke. "Then we'd have to open a conduct investigation. But understand—falsifying claims is a serious offense. One that could lead to disciplinary action or even expulsion."
"I wouldn't," Sage muttered, ashamed the words had come out at all. "I just—never mind."
There was a beat of silence. Mrs. Holloway reached for a slip of paper and scribbled something on it.
"This is the number for the student ombudsman," she said. "They mediate when students feel stuck in university systems. Maybe they can help you escalate your concern."
Sage took the paper with numb fingers. "Thanks."
As she turned to leave, Mrs. Holloway's voice followed her.
"You have to use the right channels. Don't give up."
Sage didn't respond. She walked out of the office.
---
The hallway felt colder than it should have. Students buzzed past her, laughing, others hurrying to class.
Her phone buzzed. It was a text from Jaxon.
"Hey, I have people coming over tonight. Don't be lame, please."
Sage stared at the message, her heart thudding.
She wanted to scream, but she knew what would happen if she responded. It would become another fight.
Instead, she shoved the phone into her pocket and walked to the east quad. It was quieter there with fewer students,and shade. She sat on a bench under a patchy tree and pressed her hands into her lap to stop them from trembling.
The idea of going back made her stomach churn.
She thought about calling her mother but quickly dismissed it. Her mom had enough to worry about—working two jobs and caring for Sage's younger brother, trying to keep the house running with half of what they needed.
She opened the campus portal, staring at the Student Ombudsman page. Her thumb hovered over the number.
She tapped the number and let it ring. When the voicemail kicked in, she didn't leave a message. Instead, she hung up and sat in silence for a long time.
Eventually, she stood, dusted her jeans off, and made her way back to her apartment.
As she opened it, the familiar waft of cloying perfume hit her nose. The thump of bass from Jaxon's speaker reverberated. Someone she didn't recognize was sitting on the couch in the living room, scrolling through their phone.
The moment he walked out of his room and saw her, she saw a smirk on his face "Hey"he muttered.
Sage didn't answer. She instead walked to her room sat on her desk and opened her laptop. Her hands were still shaking.
She would document this. Every guest and every noise violation. Every passive-aggressive comment. She'd write it all down.