The Door.

Chapter- 3

Mrs. Señorpizza

A month flew by like this, each day seemingly longer than the last, as Mrs. Señorpizza became more irritating and demanding than ever. Her incessant appearances, coupled with her nosy tendencies, were beginning to fray my nerves and the nerves of my roommates.

One particularly dreary morning, I was jolted awake by the sound of a doorbell ringing—no, not just ringing; it was ringing hard and nonstop, like someone was trying to summon a spirit rather than just get my attention. I rolled over to steal a glance at my clock and was alarmed to find that it was only 3 a.m. in the dead of winter. Yet, the ringing continued, relentless and abrasive and utterly infuriating.

By this point, my roommates—Dordan, Pablo, and Grenade—had also been stirred awake from their sleep, and I could hear the groans and muttering of irritation from them as they abruptly got out of bed. They stumbled to the door in half-sleep, murmuring complaints under their breath, and finally threw the door open, spilling a hint of warmth into the frigid air. The old wooden door creaked loud enough to wake the dead, or so it felt, thanks to the drafty winter breeze swirling through our apartment.

We usually tried to reason with Mrs. Señorpizza when she came knocking at such early hours, and today was no different. They raised their voices, just enough to convey irritation without escalating things further, telling her to go away and come back at a more humane hour—like 4 a.m., which had become the unspoken agreement we had all come to endure.

Though I couldn't discern what she replied, I heard the familiar creaking of the door being shut, which brought me a small measure of relief. Yet, the creaking of that door had been a constant source of annoyance lately, and coupled with Mrs. Señorpizza's nosiness, my irritation level had reached a boiling point.

She wasn't just an annoying neighbor who showed up at odd hours; she had taken it upon herself to listen for any noise coming from our flat, practically planting herself right outside our door. Just last week, she had even reported us to the landlord, claiming that it wasn't appropriate for a girl to be living with three men, insinuating that something illicit was happening under our roof.

Her invasiveness didn't stop there; I often caught her peeking inside our home whenever we opened the door, as if trying to confirm her petty suspicions. In her own words, she made it crystal clear that she didn't like us residing in this flat because it made her uncomfortable.

But today, her antics had escalated to a level that I could only describe as extreme. Just as I thought I might finally catch a few more hours of sleep, I was jolted awake once more at 3:59 a.m. when I heard her slamming the doorbell, each bang echoing with the intensity of her barely restrained anger. It was unbearable.

With a weary sigh, I pulled myself out of bed and trudged toward the door, sending a silent prayer that this interaction would be a brief one. As I opened it, the door continued its tiresome creaking, taunting my dwindling patience. "Tch! Annoying," I muttered to myself, bracing for what was sure to be yet another confrontation as I prepared to clean.

"Ah, Suzuki! It seems I need to have a word with you," she said, her voice dripping with an almost sugary sweetness that only masked the underlying menace. "I think you might have to find a new house somewhere not on this street. Your so-called friends haven't been particularly pleasant to me."

"Oh, ma'am! I assure you, I'll have a talk with them to ensure better behavior!" I forced a sweet tone, suppressing the urge to roll my eyes at her condescension as I finished my cleaning task and tried to extricate myself from this tiresome exchange.

But then it came—a twist of fate. "Ohh, Suzuki Tailor! Your work isn't done yet! You have to clean my shoe rack too, as a punishment," she said, her voice still dripping with that treacly sweetness, but tinged with a sense of satisfaction.

With a deep sigh, I reluctantly started to clean her shoe rack, which was a chaotic jumble of shoes caked in layers of dust. As I worked, I caught a glance at her sneering in the corner of my eye, an almost gleeful look on her face that filled me with resentment.

Once I finished what had seemingly become my newest chore, I knocked on my door for one of the boys to let me back in, hoping for a pity party to console my frustrations. Pesticide answered, his features a blend of concern and surprise as he opened the door, pushing it open so that it creaked even louder than it had before. That sound alone grated on my patience, which was wearing thinner by the second, like the fragile strand of a spider web.

I could sense the shadow of Mrs. Señorpizza growing closer, standing obnoxiously near my door, eavesdropping like a teenage girl. "Take some rest, Suzuki Tailor!" she chirped in that annoyingly contrived tone, making my blood simmer.

Turning to face her, I couldn't help but notice her poorly concealed smirk, one that was full of malice and satisfaction. "Yeah, ma'am," I said, just as I was about to shut the door.

In that moment, a gust of wind rattled the door, causing it to creak loudly once more. I clenched my eyes shut in annoyance. It was as if the universe had conspired to irritate me further. "THIS FREAKING DOOR!" I yelled, my frustration boiling over as I roughly kicked the door, forcing it to slam shut with an almost comical finality.

"Oh, shit!" I heard the startled reactions of the boys behind me as I realized just how out of control I had gotten.

I opened my eyes, feeling a rush of regret as I turned around, realizing my impulse had led to... "OH NO!"