One guest spilled a drink on my living room rug.
Nobody cleaned it properly.
Another person knocked over a decorative lamp.
Jake shoved it back onto the shelf crookedly and walked away.
The following evening, several people gathered around my dining room table for takeout.
At one point, someone even opened a cabinet looking for extra plates.
I could not believe the audacity.
Then I stumbled across a conversation that finally explained why they had moved in.
Jake was sitting at my kitchen island drinking a beer.
He looked around and sighed.
“I could get used to this place.”
Melissa laughed.
“It beats our apartment.”
“That’s an understatement,” Jake replied. “I can barely turn around in our kitchen without bumping into something.”
Melissa grinned.
“Enjoy it while you can.”
The two of them clinked their glasses together.
I sat there staring at my phone.
I had given Melissa an opportunity to earn some extra money because I knew she was struggling.
Instead, she had treated my kindness like an invitation.
Meanwhile, she continued texting me updates.
“Oliver’s eating perfectly.”
“The plants look great.”
“Everything’s under control.”
Every message made me angrier.
Not because she was using my house.
Because she was lying to me while pretending to be my friend.
