Here’s chapter 7 of the new book, “Dangerous Roommate.” Enjoy reading. Let me know your thoughts about this chapter in the comment section below.

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The following night, Frank sighed as he lowered his face, standing in front of his new home, sighing heavily as he grabbed the keys in his dark gray slacks. Even though the suddenness of moving in with Stefan caught him off guard, he had no other choice because he had nowhere to go. He couldn’t barge into Gun’s house because his space was full. His hundred square meter space barely fit his two teenagers, wife, and a few relatives living with them. For sure, there was no space for one more.

On the flip side, it was rather unusual for TEFAF to offer such generosity to an artist. To his knowledge, they only have a ten-day fair that attracts around seventy-five thousand visitors each year, and it has been considered the world’s leading art fair. They only have two big branches: Maastricht and New York. But he had never heard any announcement about it.

So, how come Stefan just randomly barged in with such a daring agreement? Even if they had sent Stefan as a representative, it still didn’t make any sense. Though Frank had the idea of joining someday, he had never planned to organize or participate in such an event soon.

After he unlocked the door knob and marched inside revealed a room that seemed fresh from Civil War. Deafening clutter welcomed his entrance. And there was no Stefan around, and he hadn’t seen him around that day. He stood there as he ran his eyes over the space, wondering what that idiot had done the whole day. Did he have a party going on here? If so, for sure, it was a blast. Was the clutter intentional? That, he didn’t know. He clucked.

His eyes grew wide, arching an eyebrow lifted in surprise. He ran over as much space as he could see and noticed clothes piled on the small table, apparently their dining table. Of course, it wasn’t his. He assumed it was placed at the edge of the small cabinet where he stood. His brows crossed as he bit his lip out of disappointment.

Annoyed by the situation, he roamed around the room, checking every inch of the chaotic space he was in. Unwashed plates were piled on the sink. Pieces of trash were scattered as if there were birds flocking. It was crystal clear Stefan was having a feast inside while he was stuck in a nine-to-five job, drenched with stressful work. Great.

Frank closed his eyes for a prolonged blink as if taking a moment to choose his words carefully. His mind screamed at himself with both hands on his waist while scrubbing his face with his hands. He looked down and sighed again, heading upstairs to his room.

Then, he plunged onto the bed and sprawled, burying himself underneath his soft white sheets. He rolled to his back, facing the ceiling in deep thought. At that moment, he realized he’d slowly become a certified workaholic, drenched with work the whole eight hours without breaks. And that was the top of the caveat.

His marriage collapsed as his dream to build a family life at twenty-nine. Too young if you think of it. As catastrophic as his situation was, he didn’t like everybody to know that their department head had lost everything he had worked hard for a split second. That thought had left him scoffing.

Then, he rose and prepared to work for a seemingly out-of-character part-time job. Who would have thought he would find himself in this situation? He scoffed, realizing how hard he had worked only to get thrown into this mess.

He thought he tried. He did his best. He gave his all. He gave everything that he could. Yet, none of them truly gave him a sense of content to fill the void. A deep-seated hopelessness swallowed him, thinking that all he could do was to keep every task he had accomplished. He tried to keep his sense of lack in place, trying his hardest not to spill it all over the place. Not at work, and definitely not in Stefan’s place.

With all these thoughts reeling inside his head, he headed to the kitchen and searched for the dishwashing gloves. Then, he started washing the plates and glasses on the sink. After, he took the trash bag and picked up pieces of trash before he vacuumed the floor.

To his surprise, this part-time job became a meditation, a therapy for his stressful kind of life. As he dipped the mop into its bucket and then rubbed it against the floor, he thought it was a great option to express what he felt. He wasn’t brusque enough to punch a wall or do some boxing, and he was too impatient to do yoga. He thought he would rather clean than crow, looking like a fool.

Because even if he did want to lash out and scream, nobody would care anyway. Nobody would listen or dare understand him. Not Eunice. Not Stefan. None.

Frank thought he may have accomplished a lot as a young man, but he only did it for survival. Though he was creative as a child, though he was passionate about art, and though he liked the feeling of being successful in his field, he found himself staring in the distance as this same love, his first love, had turned into something he hated. Because every time he thought about it, the first thing he had in mind wasn’t love anymore. He hadn’t celebrated his creativity for a long time, and he hated to accept that, as an artist, he became more of a businessman.

And he had to be so good at it to impress Stefan. Otherwise, he would be in trouble.

He went on as he got immersed in the thought without knowing he had finished. It was clean enough to eat off the floors in here. Satisfied, he headed to the shower room and felt relaxed with hot water as the drops of water splashed on his skin. But then, as he closed his eyes, he saw blurry images of Stefan looking at him intently that first night. That had also kept him wondering what it was.

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Author’s Note:

Thank you so much for spending time reading this chapter. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did when I wrote this part months ago. This chapter, in particular, reminded me of those times when I sat before my desk, seemingly prepared to type in words, but I struggled to keep it up.

It took an external motivation to get it through, and, at that time, the NaNoWriMo event was upcoming. At that time, I thought, “This could be a great opportunity to try and give this a shot one more time. You’d done an excellent job with ‘The Rival,’ so you could do it, Mecyll.”

You know, it’s easier said than done because writing a chapter with a clear intent to finish it requires more than just a skill. Since I started writing fiction, I realized how much this work demands my ability to be naked and the guarantees to answer whether I was mentally, emotionally, and spiritually prepared to face my fears, conscious or unconscious.

So, being able to write this down meant I managed despite the countless times dancing around with depression and enjoying the roller coaster rides my anxiety provided me.

This is why I don’t know how to thank you for your support, regardless of the scale or contribution size, from sharing my work with others or buying my books. It doesn’t matter because, for me, every small act you show is appreciated.

Again, thank you, and have a great day!

If you like to support my writing life, here’s what you can do:

1. Get a copy of “The Rival” Uncensored Gay Romance Novel.
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