Roommate Horror Stories: What I Did About My Roommate's Girlfriend Always Being Over

I snagged a two-bedroom in Denver, a cozy spot with mountain views that felt like a steal despite its compact size. My roommate, Jake, a laid-back coder I met online, seemed perfect at first, tapping away at his desk, barely making a sound. But then his girlfriend, Lily, became a permanent fixture. Her toothbrush appeared on the sink, her clothes piled in our shared laundry, and she was there daily, her laughter filling the apartment. She was sweet, chatting about books over coffee, but I hadn’t signed up for a third roommate, especially one who didn’t pay rent or clean. The space felt cramped, my privacy shrinking with every visit.

Their routines invaded my life. They’d monopolize the bathroom for an hour, Lily’s skincare regimen and hair-straightening sessions accompanied by blaring TikTok tunes. I’d knock, desperate to brush my teeth, and she’d call, “Almost done!” only to take 25 minutes more. My fridge overflowed with her almond milk and juice, my meal prep containers repurposed for her kale salads. The final straw was finding my toothbrush damp, used “by accident,” she claimed, blushing. I was livid, my patience worn to a thread. I confronted Jake in the living room, the air heavy with the scent of Lily’s lavender candles. “This feels crowded, man,” I said. He rubbed his neck. “She lost her lease, won’t be long,” he promised, but weeks passed with no change.

I pushed for rules or rent contribution, but they brushed it off, acting like I was the unreasonable one. “She’s not really living here,” Jake said, as Lily folded her laundry on our couch. I gave them a two-week ultimatum: Lily moves out, or I do. They laughed, calling me uptight, as if my need for space was a joke. Fed up, I spent my evenings on my laptop, hunting for peace. Luckily, I found a solo studio in a quieter building, its walls free of uninvited guests. I packed swiftly, taking my toothbrush and every last container, leaving behind their cluttered chaos. Jake and Lily barely blinked, too wrapped up in their bubble to notice my absence.

My new place was small but mine, the sink free of stray toothbrushes, the fridge stocked only with my food. I savoured the silence, the freedom to shower without a soundtrack. Moving out was my rebellion, a reclaiming of my space from a couple who treated my home like their personal lounge. I learned to vet roommates better, ensuring no surprise tenants would disrupt my peace again.