When the echoes in the bathroom and the echoes in my head all stop, I'm left in deafening silence. The bathroom seems overwhelmingly, blindingly bright now. I have to get out.

My thoughts return to the room with its barred windows and searing door handle. I want out. I feel like a rat, trapped in an unsolvable maze. I feel suddenly claustrophobic, and force myself to my feet. Making my way back to the bedroom, I wrap my hand in the pillowcase again and yank hard on the door.

It springs open with no resistance and slams into the wall, swinging back shut with the force of the yank. I freeze in fear, terrified that the door would somehow lock again and I'd be stuck in here forever. But I hear no click. And the door opens again when I try it. So I step into the hallway while I have the chance.

I half expect to see the charred remains of a building, considering the heat of the door handle earlier, but instead I step out into the hallway of my college dorms. The faded blue carpet is spongy underneath my feet and the air is thick with the distinct odor of old.

This hallway is so much longer than the one in the dorms. It runs the length of a full hotel. I look to my left and then to my right. There's no indication of which way to go, so I follow my instincts and turn left, the direction I would have from my dorm room. Following the hallway, I feel a smile cross my face for the first time in... how long? Days? Years? Time has lost all meaning since I've entered this place.

Time lost all memory well before then.

I allow my feet to work on autopilot as I fall back into my memories.

The cold air whips around me as I walk across campus. I cling to my cigarette, trying to draw the last bit of warmth from it. My ears sting and my face is numb. It's been a long time since we've had a winter this harsh, and I do not have enough cold-weather clothes to survive this.

My dorm is only a short distance away, but it feels like I've still miles to go.

I turn my collar against my neck to protect myself from the cold and press on. I'm grateful that it doesn't snow often in this part of Texas. I'd never make it in that kind of winter. My body has been shivering for so long that I have forgotten what it feels like for my teeth not to chatter.

When I finally reach the door of my form, I'm filled with only momentary relief. My ID card is somewhere in my backpack and I'm not sure my joints can actually bend to dig for it. Somehow I manage.

Walking into the lobby, my face begins to tingle as it thaws out. I can't wait to get into my room, crank up the heat, and read a book in silence. But first, I must tackle the stairs. They're always cold.

I walk slowly toward the stairwell, absorbing as much heat as I can before opening the heavy metal door. The stairwell smells of its usual fragrant mixture of pot, body odor, and poor ventilation, but I take it anyway. I don't trust the 900-year-old elevators in the building.

Climbing to the fourth floor, I burst forth into the hallway, welcoming the smell of old carpet and mildew over the mixture of aromas in the stairs. I'm thankful that my hands have regained feeling. But mostly, all I want to do is climb under my covers, shirk all responsibilities for the rest of the day, and read a book.

"Shit, I didn't know you were coming home," Mike, my roommate, turns off the TV quickly as I open the door. I've suspected for some time that he watched porn on the couch while I'm gone, and this doesn't actually do anything to soothe that suspicion.

I just raise my eyebrows in accusation.

"It's cold as balls outside," I say instead. "Can I turn up the heat for a second?"

"Sure, yeah," Mike says stiffly, pulling his blanket tighter around him. He must be cold, too.

I sit down on the armchair for a second, and drop my backpack to the floor beside me.

"So, what's up?" I ask him. I didn't know Mike before college--we were just randomly matched at the start of the school year--but I like him. We aren't best friends, but we're growing pretty close, I think.

"Uhhh, nothing, I guess. Just, you know, hanging out here since I got out of class. You know."

Why is he being so weird? He's usually the chatty one.

"You okay?" I ask, trying to figure out if I've done something wrong. He's not usually passive aggressive; that's my mom's territory. But I'm still gunshy.

"Yeah. Yeah," he says, still acting and sounding odd. "I um. I was just in the middle of something."

I hope my face doesn't give away the million thoughts that flash through my head all at once.

"Oh my God. Were you, um... are you... are you naked underneath that blanket?!" I am the king of tact.

"You're supposed to be in class for another hour," he shouts, like this awkward situation is all my fault.

"I finished the test early. It was easy," I defend. "I tell you what. I'm gonna um, I'm gonna go lie down in my bed and give you some privacy. And you can just, uh, finish what you were doing? And then you can disinfect this whole room and we can go get dinner."

I awkwardly get out of the armchair and duck into my bedroom before he can respond.

I snap back into the present at the sound of a slamming door. Was that in my memories or did I really hear something?

I stand still for a minute to listen, but I can't stop thinking about Mike. That day was a turning point for us. After that day, our relationship evolved into something very complicated and sticky.

We became very open about sex, in a way that souther men only are in lockerrooms and teen dramas. And Mike began walking around in various states of undress. Sometimes he even left his porn DVDs in the DVD player in the living room, long after he was done.

It evolved so slowly that I never realized where we were headed until we got there. Before I know it, I'm back in the past again, the fragrant Spring air so familiar I can almost smell it again.

"How come you never bring any girls back to the room?" Mike asks. I've been studying for midterms all day, so I'm milking this cigarette for all it's worth. I offer him one as well.

"You have to have time for girls to have time for girls," I shrug, offering him my lighter, too.

It's true. I've been working my on-campus job and my job at Blockbuster on top of taking a full course load. I don't really have time for a social life, a love life, or a sex life.

"Besides," I laugh. "It seems like you've brought enough back to make up for it."

I've walked in on Mike on four different occasions in the living room with different women. Why he can't fuck in his bedroom is beyond me.

"Don't act like you weren't impressed," he laughs. "You liked what you saw."

The truth is, I kind of did. But I was still confused by all of it. The whole scene was hot and complicated and uncomfortable. Sex was meant to be this intimate thing, right? At least it was for me. To be interrupted by your roommate--or by a complete stranger, for the women Mike was with--must be unsettling at best.

But still, I couldn't deny that I'd thought about it a lot. It's almost as if Mike was trying to get caught.

Oh my God. It's exactly like Mike was trying to get caught.

I try to play it cool through this realization, because I'm still not totally sure how I feel about the whole situation. It's not like there's some kind of quiz in the back of a magazine to determine if your roommate's into you, or just an exhibitionist.

I shrug, taking a long drag on my cigarette. I feel like this is the safest response.

"What?" he laughs in that way that tells me he's about to take things one step too far. "You jealous you didn't get a turn with me yet?"

"Yup, that's it," I deadpan. But he might not be wrong. I have thought about it, if I'm being honest with myself. Mike's a good-looking guy, with his dark, wavy hair, and his bright blue eyes. He's athletic. He's kind. He's smart. He's certainly attractive on many levels.

But I don't know how to tell him this. Navigating relationships is hard. Much less navigating a possibly unrequited infatuation with a roommate who you can't escape should things go south.

I snuff out my cigarette and throw the butt away, suddenly done with all of this. I don't have the ability to navigate this conversation right now. I have to get back to studying, anyway. Midterms wait for no one.

Mike catches up to me in the stairwell.

"Hey," he calls. "Sorry. I thought we were having fun."

"We were, " I call back to him, still climbing the stairs. "I just have to get back to studying." I don't want to be part of this conversation anymore.

"Jake," he sounds exasperated. "Can you just stop for a second?"

I turn to look at him, and there's a wild look in his blue eyes. He's begging me for something, but I don't know what it is.

"What?" I ask, trying to break this weird tension between us.

His lips part and I wait for him to say something. But he doesn't. He just kisses me in that musty, dirty stairwell. And he keeps kissing me.