Jake and I had a clean, happy house—until Alex moved in. Jake let him in without a word to me, sparking trouble. I fixed it my way, and they’ll never forget it.
Alex’s reno forced him out, and Jake said, “Stay with us!” “It’ll be great,” he beamed as Alex unpacked. I frowned but forgave his quick “sorry.”
Great? Nope. Beer bottles, snack trash, and a foul bedroom smell took over. I was livid within a week.
They’d play games and drink past midnight, carefree. “They’ll be fine,” Jake had sworn. Instead, I cleaned up their storm.
One night, the kitchen was a dump—sticky, cluttered, gross. I balled my fists, done playing maid. I’d make them see.
“Jake, talk?” I said in his office. “I’m drowning in their mess.” He scoffed, “It’s one room—chill out.”
That cut deep. I’d show him “chill.” I brewed a plan as they laughed downstairs.
Next morning, I collected Alex’s filth—cans, clothes, leftovers. I piled it in Jake’s office while they slept. It was a trash masterpiece.
“What’s this?” Jake bellowed, waking to chaos. Alex laughed, “Your office is toast, bro!” I smirked, unbothered.
Jake shoved it aside, but it grew—dishes, socks, junk. “I can’t work!” he shouted. “One room,” I grinned, “no problem, huh?”
Alex muttered, “My bad—I’ll help.” They tidied a bit, but it faded fast. I was back at square one.
Friday, we clashed hard. “You’re no fun!” Jake snapped, backing Alex. I packed and called my friend Mia—“Can I stay?”
Her clean place was a dream. Monday, Jake called, frantic. “It’s a mess—come back!” I said, “Clean it, ditch Alex—then we’ll talk.”
He sent a video of them scrubbing. I came home—house perfect, Alex leaving. “Sorry,” he said, bag in hand.
Jake pulled me close. “I was wrong—I’ll listen.” We found our rhythm again, stronger, thanks to my stand.
