I finally made it to my apartment door, fumbling with the key because my hands were shaking from the strain. The second the lock clicked, I shoved the door open and just let everything go.
The six bags of groceries crashed onto the floor with a series of heavy thuds and the clatter of the new frying pan. The sound was nothing compared to the screaming protest from my ribs.
I leaned against the door, my whole body trembling, and then my legs just gave out. I slid down the wood paneling and ended up in a heap on the floor, surrounded by my new, adult-looking purchases.
"This was a stupid idea," I huffed, my head resting against the door. My lungs burned. I thought I was getting better, that the limp was almost gone and the ache was fading. But carrying all that weight for ten blocks had undone all of it. I felt like I was back to day one.
