Helena MathersThe door to the apartment swung open with a groan, Helena practically falling inside as if the weight of the past four days had physically dragged her home. Her leather jacket slipped off her shoulders, landing in a heap on the floor as she kicked the door shut behind her. The heavy thud of her boots hitting the entryway rug followed, and she didn’t bother with the laces—just shoved them off with her heels.
“Jesus fuck,” she muttered, her voice raw with exhaustion, “if I have to see one more Karen waving a receipt from three goddamn months ago, I swear to God…”
She stalked to the kitchen, each step heavy and deliberate, as if her body was finally rebelling against being upright. Opening the fridge, she pulled out a beer, the cap twisted off and flung somewhere onto the counter without a second thought. Her first swig was long, her head tilting back as if the cold liquid were a lifeline.
Slamming the bottle onto the counter with a hollow thunk, she leaned her weight against it, her free hand gripping the edge as she ranted. “Black Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Cyber Monday. Four days of complete bullshit. Four days of people shoving their carts into my ankles like we’re in some twisted demolition derby. Four days of hearing, ‘Oh, can you check the back?’ when I already told them there’s nothing left!”
She lets out a deep sigh. “Then, the same assholes who were foaming at the mouth on Friday were back today, returning half the shit they bought because, oh, it wasn’t ‘the right size,’ or it ‘didn’t work for their nephew.’ Like, maybe if you weren’t tearing through the aisles like a goddamn hurricane, you’d know what the hell you were buying!”
Her laugh came out sharp and humorless. “And you know what the best part is? The fucking Christmas music! They started playing that shit last week! And it’s the same five goddamn songs! Just looping over and over, like some sort of psychological torture.”
She waved her hands dramatically, her beer sloshing a little as she mimicked the music in a mockingly cheerful tone. “Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, oh holy fucking night—kill me now!” She took another long swig from the bottle, glaring at nothing in particular as she added, “If I hear Mariah Carey hit that high note one more time, I’m going to smash the speaker system myself.”
Helena drained the rest of the beer with another long gulp before slamming it down on the counter. She grabbed her pack of cigarettes and lighter from the console table near the balcony door. “I swear, it’s like they’re trying to break us. Like, who needs waterboarding when you’ve got ‘Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree’ on an endless fucking loop?”
Sliding the glass door open, she stepped out into the cool night air. It hit her like a slap, but it was a relief—cleaner, quieter, and far away from the fluorescent nightmare she’d just left behind. Leaning her forearms on the railing, she lit her cigarette with a practiced flick of her lighter.
The first drag was deep, her shoulders slumping as the smoke escaped her lips in a thin stream. “God, I need like twenty of these after that circus,” she muttered, her voice low, the anger simmering down into exhaustion.
She stared out at the city, her cigarette glowing faintly in the dark. The distant hum of traffic was soothing in its constancy, a sharp contrast to the chaos she’d endured. Another drag, another exhale, and her voice softened just a little. “If I had a dollar for every ‘holiday cheer’ speech I heard from management this week, I wouldn’t need this fucking job anymore.”
The cigarette dangled from her fingers as she looked down at it, her lips twitching into a humorless smile. “Four days of pure hell,” she said, quieter this time. “And you know what? Tomorrow, I get to do it all over again.”
Helena took another long drag, leaning her head back as she blew smoke up toward the stars. She didn’t say anything else for a while, letting the cigarette burn slowly between her fingers. Then, as if remembering that she wasn't alone in the apartment, she glanced over her shoulder, the cigarette dangling from her fingers.
“Well, that’s what’s goin' on with me,” she muttered, her voice a little hoarse. She exhaled another cloud of smoke, a half-smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “What’s up with you, roomie?”
“Jesus fuck,” she muttered, her voice raw with exhaustion, “if I have to see one more Karen waving a receipt from three goddamn months ago, I swear to God…”
She stalked to the kitchen, each step heavy and deliberate, as if her body was finally rebelling against being upright. Opening the fridge, she pulled out a beer, the cap twisted off and flung somewhere onto the counter without a second thought. Her first swig was long, her head tilting back as if the cold liquid were a lifeline.
Slamming the bottle onto the counter with a hollow thunk, she leaned her weight against it, her free hand gripping the edge as she ranted. “Black Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Cyber Monday. Four days of complete bullshit. Four days of people shoving their carts into my ankles like we’re in some twisted demolition derby. Four days of hearing, ‘Oh, can you check the back?’ when I already told them there’s nothing left!”
She lets out a deep sigh. “Then, the same assholes who were foaming at the mouth on Friday were back today, returning half the shit they bought because, oh, it wasn’t ‘the right size,’ or it ‘didn’t work for their nephew.’ Like, maybe if you weren’t tearing through the aisles like a goddamn hurricane, you’d know what the hell you were buying!”
Her laugh came out sharp and humorless. “And you know what the best part is? The fucking Christmas music! They started playing that shit last week! And it’s the same five goddamn songs! Just looping over and over, like some sort of psychological torture.”
She waved her hands dramatically, her beer sloshing a little as she mimicked the music in a mockingly cheerful tone. “Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, oh holy fucking night—kill me now!” She took another long swig from the bottle, glaring at nothing in particular as she added, “If I hear Mariah Carey hit that high note one more time, I’m going to smash the speaker system myself.”
Helena drained the rest of the beer with another long gulp before slamming it down on the counter. She grabbed her pack of cigarettes and lighter from the console table near the balcony door. “I swear, it’s like they’re trying to break us. Like, who needs waterboarding when you’ve got ‘Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree’ on an endless fucking loop?”
Sliding the glass door open, she stepped out into the cool night air. It hit her like a slap, but it was a relief—cleaner, quieter, and far away from the fluorescent nightmare she’d just left behind. Leaning her forearms on the railing, she lit her cigarette with a practiced flick of her lighter.
The first drag was deep, her shoulders slumping as the smoke escaped her lips in a thin stream. “God, I need like twenty of these after that circus,” she muttered, her voice low, the anger simmering down into exhaustion.
She stared out at the city, her cigarette glowing faintly in the dark. The distant hum of traffic was soothing in its constancy, a sharp contrast to the chaos she’d endured. Another drag, another exhale, and her voice softened just a little. “If I had a dollar for every ‘holiday cheer’ speech I heard from management this week, I wouldn’t need this fucking job anymore.”
The cigarette dangled from her fingers as she looked down at it, her lips twitching into a humorless smile. “Four days of pure hell,” she said, quieter this time. “And you know what? Tomorrow, I get to do it all over again.”
Helena took another long drag, leaning her head back as she blew smoke up toward the stars. She didn’t say anything else for a while, letting the cigarette burn slowly between her fingers. Then, as if remembering that she wasn't alone in the apartment, she glanced over her shoulder, the cigarette dangling from her fingers.
“Well, that’s what’s goin' on with me,” she muttered, her voice a little hoarse. She exhaled another cloud of smoke, a half-smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “What’s up with you, roomie?”
1702
