BeatriceThe moment I step through the door, the stagnant reek of cold grease and tobacco settles into my skin like a second coat of clothes. but my bones are too heavy for me to summon any real resentment. The chipped paint on the walls, the hallway bulb that's been stuttering toward its grave for months, and the stubborn, rusted latch that fights my hand every time I come home. They're all part of the apartments charm, I guess.I eased the door shut until the latch caught with a faint, metallic click, and I just stayed there, letting the wood take my full weight. It was one of those heavy, airless silences that rings in your ears the kind of quiet that feels less like peace and more like the world is laughing at me for dragging myself through another shift on nothing but sheer exhaustion.The living room, slash dining room, slash everything room is as cramped and cluttered as ever. A pile of laundry that hasn't been touched in three days still sits on the old recliner, some clean, s
Last Updated : 2026-03-10 Read more