Gemotions

The late-night air conditioning hummed, a low vibration that seemed to penetrate every fiber of Clara’s being. She sat on the edge of the bed, the duvet pulled tight around her. Michael had gone into the spare room again. Again. A persistent thrumming in her temples grew with each passing minute. She had heard him whispering, the hushed tones barely audible over the white noise of the machine. Her stomach felt hollow, churning with a disquiet she couldn't name.

She got up and walked quietly to the door, listening. The rhythmic tap of his knuckles on the wall of the guest room, she thought. She put her ear against the cold wood, the sound of the unseen world behind it, a sound that made her fingers prickle. Then silence, abruptly. She turned the knob and pushed the door open. Michael stood there, phone clutched to his ear, a guilty, startled expression flickering across his face.