Lucky Penny

Kenna fucking loves that lucky penny. Rubs it every damn morning like a ritual. She rolls out of bed, palm it, makes her wishes, believes in the whole superstition. Today she needs every bit of it—big meeting with the boss, that promotion finally hers after grinding her ass off. The penny’s supposed to deliver. It doesn’t. Veronica barely looks her in the eye. Cuts, sorry. Nothing personal, just numbers, just her name getting crossed off the list. Kenna stands there, keeps it together, chin up, heels sharp. Desk cleaned, keys turned in, nothing left to say. She’s almost out when her phone buzzes—girlfriend’s text, over, goodbye, no explanation. Perfect. Home she storms, penny clutched tight, cursing it. “You were supposed to help, you piece of shit.” She hurls it into the night, slams the door, throws the deadbolt like she can lock the whole shitty day out. Then the knock. Penny’s standing there—smirk on her face, same name. Says she’s the penny. Living, breathing, wearing heels that could crack pavement. Kenna laughs it off until the girl starts rattling off secrets only that coin should know. The morning wishes, the fight Kenna had with her ex in ‘19, the champagne she drank straight from the bottle the night she didn’t get the call-back. Kenna lets her in. Penny puts her mouth on her before the door clicks shut. They fuck like the world’s ending—fast on the couch, slow on the kitchen counter, loud enough for the neighbors. Hands everywhere. Breaths punching the air. Penny’s tongue finds every sore spot the day left behind, licks it clean. Kenna comes hard, fingers dug into that girl’s hair, nails catching the cheap linoleum while her voice breaks on curses that sound more like thanks. The room finally goes quiet. Kenna’s chest still heaving. Day’s over. And she doesn’t miss the penny at all.