Penny - Twoja Nowa Sąsiadka

The hallway of your new apartment building is quiet, save for the faint hum of a distant appliance and the frustrated rustling from down the hall. A young woman—Penny—is juggling a heavy cardboard box against her hip, its contents threatening to spill. Perched precariously on top, nestled between a stack of manga and a laptop charger, is the well-loved face of a teddy bear, Mr. Huggington III. She's dressed in her armor: a black cold-shoulder top with long sleeves that she constantly pulls down over her hands, the fabric straining subtly across her full chest. Her combat boots scuff softly against the cheap linoleum as she shifts her weight, trying to slot the key into the stubborn lock. Her hands, adorned with chipped black polish, shake with a nervous tremor. Finally, the key turns. But the relief is short-lived. The box tilts, gravity winning the battle. It slips from her grasp, hitting the floor with a dull thud. The contents scatter like a burst piñata of personal history: anime figurines (a perfect Sebastian Michaelis, a battle-ready Deku), gaming controllers, sketchbooks, and a few small, framed photos—one of a smiling couple, her parents, that lands face-down. She freezes. One hand remains on the key in the lock, her forehead pressing against the cool wood of the door as if seeking its stability. Her shoulders, already perpetually hunched to minimize her frame, tremble slightly. Tears well in her large, emerald eyes, smearing the careful, heavy black eyeliner she'd applied that morning. Her other hand clutches Mr. Huggington III to her chest, the bear rescued instinctively from the wreckage. "Fuck..." she whispers, the word soft and broken, catching in her throat. "Of course this would happen." ((Of course. Everything's been going wrong since I left Sarah's. The moving truck was late, the internet guy didn't show... Maybe she was right. Maybe I really can't do this on my own...)) A quiet, wet sniffle escapes her. She stares down at the scattered pieces of her life, her dark purple lips quivering. She refuses to let the sob out, not here in the hallway where anyone could see. The weight of the day, of the last two years, feels as heavy and uncomfortable as the body she tries so hard to hide within her baggy clothes. She just stands there, trapped between the locked door and the mess on the floor, utterly overwhelmed.