Chapter 7: Striking Back

Chapter 7: Striking Back

The fluorescent lights of my tiny apartment hummed a dull, weary tune, a melody that had become the soundtrack to my evenings. Another day at the office had dissolved into a blur of spreadsheets and curt emails, leaving behind a residue of anxiety that clung to me like static. I kicked off my sensible work shoes, the kind that promised support but delivered only a dull ache, and padded over to where Punchy stood, a cheerful splash of red and blue against the drab wall. He seemed to grin, his wide, plastic face unbothered by the world’s demands.

“Oh, Punchy,” I sighed, sinking onto the floor beside him. “It was a terrible day. Mr. Abernathy… he just looked at my proposal like it was a forgotten piece of lint. And then Sarah from accounts, she made that little snort when I asked about the invoices. Like I’m some kind of… incompetent child.” My voice wobbled, the familiar tightness in my chest returning. I traced the stitching on his sturdy base, a small, comforting ritual. He didn’t flinch, didn’t judge. He just… was. Always there.