Who’s by far the strangest person you’ve ever met?

The Betrayal and the Final Escape

Over the next month those eggs looked like a science experiment. I watched each day as maggots began to form inside the shells. Soon gnats started to surround the egg carton. The sight was nauseating, and the smell even worse.

Eventually I approached Tom about the decomposing eggs. I told him how unhealthy it was to be living like this and asked him if he could throw the eggs out. His reaction was chilling. He said: “No, and if I even thought about touching them I’d regret it.”

I backed down. I realized that challenging him might only escalate the situation further. Tom’s behavior had gotten worse in ways I couldn’t have predicted.

On our spring break, he invited a group of his friends to stay at our apartment for what was supposed to be just a weekend. That weekend stretched into almost a full week. With each day that passed, I felt even more uncomfortable around them.

His friends were an eclectic bunch, to say the least. They had the same clutter as Tom. They left dishes piled high in the sink, spilled food on the counters without bothering to clean it up, and the living room became their personal landfill.

The odor of unwashed clothes and stale food began to be the apartment’s regular smell. Unless I cleaned up the apartment, it was almost unbearable to stay in the common areas.

One evening, as I was about to go to sleep early, I was headed to my room to escape the boys and there was a knock at my door. It was one of Tom’s friends, a tall guy who had a smile that looked so wide it looked sinister. He looked past me and said my room looked really cozy.

I said thanks and tried to shut the door. In that instant he put his foot in the door and asked if he could crash in there with me. Before I could respond he stepped closer.

He complimented my room and said I had really great taste. He said it looked way cleaner in my room than it did in the common area. I told him that I needed my space and that they had the living room. He flashed that wide smile again. He said: “No worries, and he just hoped to sleep next to a pretty girl that night.”

I closed the door and tried to go to sleep, but they were too loud. They eventually were low enough that I could drift off. As unsettling as his words were, what happened the next day was far worse.

One long afternoon, while Tom’s friends were sprawled across the living room, I decided I couldn’t take the mess any longer. I began to clean up around them. Dirty dishes piled up on the coffee table. Empty snack wrappers tossed carelessly on the floor and half-empty soda cans teetered on the edge of surfaces.

I moved through the apartment with a garbage bag, picking up trash and wiping down sticky surfaces. As I bent over to pick up a grimy pizza box, one of Tom’s friends, who had been watching TV, glanced over and chuckled. He said: “Look at her doing all the wife duties for us. I may have to put a ring on it,” He joked, nudging the guy next to him who laughed and nodded in agreement.

Their words hung in the air, heavy with a mocking tone that made my skin crawl. But I chose to ignore them. I kept my focus on cleaning. I could feel my blood beginning to boil on the inside. Here I was cleaning up after grown men who seem to think my efforts were part of some performance for them.

Late one evening, I was about to go to the kitchen to find something edible that hadn’t been contaminated by Tom and his crew. I could hear them laughing and talking in the living room outside my door. I could hear Tom saying that he had dibs on me first.

I could tell he was joking, or at least I hoped he did. The group burst into laughter and another voice chimed in. It was the guy from the night before. He doubted that I would give any of them a chance and decided to make a bet with the group to see who could hit first before they left.

His words sent a chill down my spine. The suggestion was met with more laughter and sounds of agreement. They treated me like a part of their game, making me sick to my stomach. I was horrified. They made me feel like prey.

Where was the goofy and quirky guy I met on my first day of moving in with him? Was he really that butt hurt about me rejecting him?

I had lost my appetite and decided to stay in my room. I locked the door and pushed my dresser against it for good measure. My heart pounded against my ribs and I broke out into a cold sweat across my forehead. I knew I couldn’t get much sleep that night.

I couldn’t even go to the University Housing Office to file another complaint because they were out for the holiday. I couldn’t call the police because what would I tell them? Arrest these guys because they made me feel uncomfortable and present no proof but word of mouth?

I knew if I told on Tom he would continue making my life a living hell. That night the apartment felt more like a prison than ever. Every noise felt like a potential threat. Every laugh or shout made me jump.

I stayed awake, lights off, sitting against my bed with my phone clutched tightly in my hand. I texted my friend about what was happening. They offered to come and get me, but the thought of walking out past them in the middle of the night was too terrifying to consider.

This was especially true after how he treated my girlfriends before. I could only imagine what his friends would do to them. As the hours dragged on, the sounds from the living room eventually faded as they fell asleep one by one. But I still wasn’t comfortable going to bed yet.

By the time dawn broke, my eyes were gritty from lack of sleep and my body was tense from hours of fear. The next morning I packed a small bag with essentials and waited for a moment when the apartment was quiet.

As soon as I heard the last snore fade away I slipped out of my room. I unlocked the front door and slipped out without a sound. I didn’t return until I got a text from Tom later that day simply reading: “They’re gone.”

The message was supposed to bring relief, but all it did was remind me of how unsafe I felt. It also reminded me how deeply Tom had betrayed my trust by allowing and encouraging their behavior.

One evening I came back to wash my clothes and continue staying with my friends for a while. When I got back to the apartment, I found a new addition to his collection of horrors. It was a small jar containing what looked like teeth.

I couldn’t tell if they were human or animal, but that sight was the final nail in the coffin. I couldn’t live like this anymore. I was determined to put an end to this so I started gathering evidence.

I took photos and videos of the apartment’s condition and his bizarre collections. I recorded audio of his late night rants and parties. It took weeks, but I carefully documented everything. I wanted to make sure I had undeniable proof of the living hell I was going through.

One Wednesday afternoon, I knew that Tom was going to have a 3-hour lab. I decided it was the perfect time to gather more evidence from his room. I slipped into his room, phone in hand, ready to document every bizarre and disturbing detail.

The room was a horror show. Dirty laundry was piled high in one corner, old food containers stacked in another. The infamous jars of nail clippings were lined up on a shelf, each labeled by date.

I began taking pictures, the camera shutter sound muffled by my thumb pressing firmly on the speaker. I moved carefully, making sure everything was left exactly as I had found it to avoid any suspicion.

As I was crouched down photographing a particularly moldy sandwich that had been left on the floor, I heard the front door of the apartment swing open with a creak that spiked my heart rate instantly. Panic surged through me.

Tom was home. The lab must have ended sooner than expected, or maybe he skipped it altogether. My mind raced as I scrambled to think of an excuse for being in his room.

I quickly tucked my phone away and stood up, trying to look as casual as possible. I straightened a few items on his desk, pretending to be tidying up a bit. This was something he knew I did compulsively in the shared spaces, hoping this would cover my real intentions.

Tom’s footsteps approached. I held my breath, praying he would head straight to the kitchen or bathroom first. Fortunately, the universe was on my side for once, and I heard the fridge door open and then the familiar sound of him rummaging through it.

Seizing the moment, I slipped out of his room just as quietly as I had entered. I closed the door with the faintest click and made my way to the living room. I picked up a book from the coffee table and tried to appear engrossed in it.

As Tom finally came into view, he jokingly asked if I was doing some spring cleaning. I told him that I was just keeping busy, trying to sound less nervous. He let it go and went to his room. I breathed a sigh of relief.

I finally had everything I needed. Armed with my evidence, I went back to the housing office. This time I was adamant that I wouldn’t be swayed into retracting my complaint.

I laid out everything, from the photos of the rotting food to the recordings of his unsettling comments. The housing office was horrified. They acted swiftly this time.

Within days an official inspection was conducted, and Tom was found in violation of multiple housing policies. The evidence was overwhelming. Finally, Tom was escorted out of the apartment by campus security.

I was moved to a new dorm room, one where I had no roommate. The university apologized for not taking more immediate action and assured me that they would review their policies on handling such complaints.

Looking back, I learned a lot about standing up for myself. It was a nightmare scenario, but enduring it and fighting back taught me about resilience. I’m in a better place now, literally and figuratively. I’ve since focused on my studies and I’m looking forward to a peaceful rest of my academic career.