The Sweet Taste of Revenge: A Roommate's Clever Payback

Taylor and Sam were not just roommates—they were polar opposites. Lately, things hadn’t been going smoothly. Sam was the organized, responsible one, always making sure the fridge was stocked, the pantry was full, and the laundry supplies were ready. Taylor, however, had developed a habit of "borrowing" Sam’s things without asking and never contributing. It had become a source of quiet frustration for Sam.

One morning, Sam opened the laundry cupboard, her eyes narrowing as she noticed the almost-empty detergent bottle. She turned to Taylor, who was lounging on the couch. "Did you use my laundry detergent?" Sam asked.

Taylor glanced up, feigning innocence. "No. I don’t think so."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? I could’ve sworn I had some left."

Taylor shrugged, eyes shifting. "Maybe somebody else used it."

Sam frowned. "No one else lives here, Taylor."

An awkward silence hung in the air before Sam sighed. "Could I use some of yours, then?"

"Oh, I’m actually all out too," Taylor responded quickly, not making eye contact.

Sam, now more suspicious, said, "Well, I guess I’ll go to the store. Do you want to come?"

"No, that’s okay. I have to go out later anyway," Taylor replied, still avoiding eye contact.

Sam nodded, deciding not to push it further. But she had a plan.

Later that afternoon, Sam noticed something else missing. One of her freshly-baked cinnamon buns was gone. She had made a batch to take to her parents' house for dinner. "Taylor," Sam called, a bit more sternly this time, "did you eat one of my cinnamon buns?"

Taylor’s mouth opened, then closed again. Finally, they stammered, "Well, I got really hungry. I’m sorry, okay?"

Sam crossed her arms. "Those were for my family. I need all four."

Taylor grinned sheepishly. "Well, that’s perfect! They can have two, and you can take the third."

"My sister's coming too," Sam said, exasperated. "You could’ve asked before deciding to eat one."

Taylor just shrugged. "I didn’t think it was a big deal."

Sam's patience was running thin. "Wait, don’t tell me that’s my orange juice you’re drinking."

Taylor froze mid-sip. "Uh… no? I don’t think so," she lied, clearly flustered.

Sam stormed to the fridge and opened it, glaring at the nearly empty orange juice bottle. "I can’t believe you drank the entire bottle. I haven’t even had a glass yet."

"I left some for you!" Taylor protested weakly. "I got thirsty. What did you want me to do?"

"Maybe buy your own?" Sam shot back, her frustration finally spilling out. "You’ve been living here for a year, and you’ve never bought groceries. Not once. I don’t mind sharing, but you need to start contributing."

Taylor looked at the floor, uncomfortable. "Why would I buy groceries when you always keep everything stocked?"

Sam was stunned by the casual response. "That’s exactly the problem."

"I’ll go to the store later," Taylor mumbled, trying to end the conversation.

Sam grabbed her bag, preparing to head out. "Fine. Just don’t touch my orange juice or my cinnamon buns while I’m gone. These are for me. If you want to share, start pitching in. Otherwise, get your own."

Taylor waved her off with a lazy grin. "Yeah, yeah. I’m going to get my own stuff right after you leave."

Sam paused at the door, giving one final warning look. "I’m serious, Taylor."

As soon as Sam left, Taylor's resolve crumbled. The temptation was too strong. She eyed the last cinnamon bun and the remaining sip of orange juice in the fridge. Sam won’t even notice, she thought, devouring the bun and downing the juice in one go.

But soon after, Taylor’s stomach began to churn uncomfortably. She glanced down at their favorite sweater—now adorned with strange white spots. Panic set in. She rushed off to put the sweater in the wahing machine.

Sam returned home a while later, noticing the empty kitchen counter and the half-empty juice bottle in the fridge. She smirked. "Taylor," she called, spotting her roommate slumped on the couch. "Did you touch my cinnamon buns or drink my orange juice?"

Taylor glanced up, clearly uncomfortable. "No," she lied weakly.

Sam chuckled softly. "You sure? Because I think those bleach stains on your sweater tell a different story."

Taylor’s eyes widened as they stared at the sweater in horror. "Bleach? What bleach?"

"I knew you'll use my laundry detergent," Sam said smugly. "So I added a little something extra to teach you a lesson. And as for the cinnamon bun…"

Taylor interrupted, their face twisted in disgust. "It tasted awful! Like toothpaste!"

Sam smiled. "That’s because it was toothpaste on top, not frosting."

Taylor was speechless, horrified at what had just happened.

"Oh, and the orange juice?" Sam added. "That wasn’t just juice. I slipped a little laxative in there."

Suddenly, Taylor’s eyes widened in terror. "No. No, you didn’t!" She bolted toward the bathroom, clutching her stomach.

"Did you at least buy toilet paper?" she shouted from behind the door.

Sam shook her head, suppressing a grin. "I guess you should’ve gotten your own like you said."

Watching Taylor rush away, Sam leaned back, feeling a bit guilty—but also satisfied. Sometimes, the best way to teach a lesson is with a little creativity. Hopefully, next time, Taylor would think twice before using someone else’s things without permission.

Taylor groaned from the bathroom. "Okay! I get it! I’ll start buying my own stuff!"

Sam smiled, satisfied that the lesson had finally sunk in.

The next time Sam opened the fridge, she was surprised to see a brand-new bottle of orange juice, untouched. Taylor had finally learned the importance of sharing—and more importantly, contributing.