I live alone. My apartment is neat-ish, my life mostly quiet, and I enjoy things staying exactly that way. Until Samantha decided to ignore all social norms and laws of physics.
It was 8:42 a.m. when I heard the crash. Not the polite "someone dropped a book" crash, but the kind of crash that announces a person has just kicked your door open.
I froze mid-toast. My neighbor's cat screeched somewhere in terror.
"John!" Samantha's voice echoed through my apartment like an alarm siren. "You will not believe what happened!"
I blinked at the front door, which was now hanging on one hinge, swaying like a beaten drum. Behind it, Samantha stood, hair wild, eyes gleaming with the thrill of destruction. In one hand, she held a backpack, which was clearly full of things I didn't want in my apartment. In the other, a half-empty bottle of something that smelled like regret and pine trees.
"Uh… Samantha?" I croaked, trying not to panic. "Do you… do you have a key? Or…?"
She grinned. "I don't need a key. Keys are boring. You're boring. This, John? This is better."
Before I could respond, she dropped her backpack onto my couch. Papers, a small cactus, what I think was a feathered boa, and a crumpled handwritten note exploded out of it. My couch now looked like a crime scene.
"And guess what?" she continued, stepping closer, uninvited but terrifyingly at home. "Mark just called me 'cute.' Can you believe it?"
Mark. My best friend. And now, apparently, the latest victim of Samantha's chaotic personal vendetta.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Samantha… you can't just—"
"Oh, but I can," she said, perched on my armchair like she had a birthright. "I needed to warn you. And also, you looked lonely. Also also… I missed you. And also also also—"
"Stop," I said firmly, though my brain was already filing an emergency request for sanity. "Samantha, you can't just barge in."
Her grin widened. "Sure I can. That's literally my superpower."