Leaving the elevator and trudging down the seemingly endless hallway, she makes it to the familiar, numbered door. Sighing against the door, plastic bags cutting into her arms, she digs in her pocket for her key chain, needing the one small, silver, tarnished key. Finally finding the object, she opens the graying, white door.
The smell of the vanilla candle that she left burning hits her nose as she walks the short hallway, past the hanging coats and the floor covered in shoes and fallen objects. She reaches the small kitchen and nearly throws the multitude of bags onto the marble-looking counter. She takes a second to herself to take a breath and checks her phone. She walks to the living room on the other side of the small island and leans down to the light-brown, round, wooden coffee table; she blows out the candle and makes her way back to the mess of groceries needing to be put away.
She starts with the freezer items; pulling out the silver compartment, she gathers the ice cream, TruFru, frozen veggies, and pounds of meat. She moves to the upper half of the silver fridge, which is covered in magnets with shopping lists, pictures, and reminders stuck underneath them. She opens the door and puts away her fruits, sauces, yogurts, lunch meat, cheese, and her variety of other goodies.
She then makes her way to the pantry, the boring brown covered by pink paint and the handles painted white. She opens them and unloads the rest of her goods: cereals, chips, granola bars, and more. When everything is put away in the kitchen, she moves to the ajar door on the left of the kitchen island; she flicks on the harsh, luminescent lighting and sees her reflection wince at the sudden brightness; she moves forward to put away her toothpaste and soaps.
Moving out of the boring, white mess of a bathroom, she goes to the door right next to it, the large, soft bed like a siren song luring her further and further into the dark room. She trips over her overfilled laundry basket and tells herself to make sure the laundry gets done tomorrow.
She forces her gaze to the object closest to her: the dresser, which is covered in her display of jewelry and random objects she has collected over the years. She grabs an oversized t-shirt and her favorite grey sweatpants before moving, once again, to the bathroom. She washes her hair with the freshly-bought shampoo, brushes her teeth, and forces herself to do a thorough skincare routine, picking one bottle up after the other, before finally, she drifts, eyes already closing to the large, inviting bed.
She meant to go to sleep; she has work and a class to go to tomorrow, but instead, she ends up scrolling on her phone for another hour or two. Finally, she calls it enough, plugs her phone in, and sets it down on the short, pink bedside table that has a dangle of cords, a candle, and a vase filled with fake flowers.
