#p1-01

RECORD P1-01

Knew You’d Have My Back

The apartment always felt biggest after midnight. Too quiet. Too clean in all the wrong places.

The kitchen light she forgot to turn off cast pale reflections across untouched counters, while the other half of the apartment looked lived-in in the worst possible way — tactical gear thrown over chairs, boots near the door, bloodstained laundry shoved into a corner she kept pretending not to see.

Most roommates never lasted more than a few weeks. Jill couldn't even blame them. They came looking for cheap rent and a quiet place near campus. Instead, they found a woman who disappeared for days without explanation, came home bruised, exhausted, sometimes covered in blood that definitely wasn't hers.

One girl left after waking up to Jill cleaning a handgun at three in the morning in complete silence.

Another stopped asking questions entirely before disappearing with only a short note on the fridge.

Crazy bitch. Jill stared at the words longer than she wanted to admit.

The thing was — she didn’t even need a roommate. The B.S.A.A. paid more than enough but the apartment felt dangerous when she was alone in it for too long.

Silence had a way of dragging old memories to the surface.

Wesker. The control. The hatred.

A hatred that always made her wonder whether it had truly been hers, or something forced into her mind until she could no longer tell the difference. Eventually that line blurred, and it became hers all the same. Some nights she could still remember exactly what it felt like to want to hurt the people she loved, the people she once fought beside.

She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the dark kitchen cabinet. Normally, she looked away before she had time to linger on it. At forty-one, she didn't look a day older than twenty-five. Most women would have called it a blessing. Jill saw something entirely different. Her reflection was a reminder that time had moved on without her. While everyone else had grown older, she had remained frozen—a permanent reminder of everything Wesker had taken from her and everything she still hadn't learned to forgive herself for.

Having another person around helped. Even if they barely talked, it didn't take much. A roommate walking through the hallway, music seeping through thin walls or an extra mug waiting in the sink were small, ordinary reminders that the world continued to move beyond the confines of her own thoughts.

Jill crumpled the note in her hand before tossing it onto the counter.

Crazy bitch, she scoffed quietly, but the words stayed.

The apartment was already too silent again. Just the low hum of the refrigerator and her own thoughts creeping back in.

Jill immediately grabbed her phone before the silence could settle in properly.

Reactivate listing. She didn’t even hesitate. She hated dragging strangers into her mess but the silence was worse.

Maybe this one would last longer than a month.

Maybe this one wouldn’t look at the blood on her knuckles and suddenly realise they were living with someone fundamentally wrong. Her phone buzzed almost instantly.

Unknown: Hey Sarah, still need a roommate?

Sarah Reed. The fake name she used for the app - easier that way, less traceable. She frowned, that was fast. Then again, it wasn't exactly surprising. Housing in the small mountain town had always been scarce. Most apartments were rented out to B.S.A.A. personnel, seasonal workers or students from the nearby university, leaving little available for everyone else. A room rarely stayed vacant for long.

Jill: Position just became vacant.

Unknown: Great. Looking for an apt. Probably short term, not sure. Stuck here for work and will be away often, but I’d still like a base to return to.

Base. Jill’s eyes narrowed slightly. Not exactly normal roommate wording.

Unknown: Be there in 5?

Jill looked around the apartment. Tactical gear covered the couch, half-folded laundry had claimed a chair, and two empty whiskey glasses still rested on the coffee table from nights she'd rather not think about. She sighed. Five minutes wouldn't fix any of it. If her next roommate was going to be scared off, better now than three weeks from now.

Jill: Apt. 7.

The knock came exactly five minutes later.

Jill opened the door while fixing her hair, already preparing herself for another awkward introduction, another normal person she’d inevitably scare away.

Then she froze.

Blond hair.

Leather jacket.

Blue eyes carrying exhaustion she recognized instantly.

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