Gemotions

The delivery driver, a young woman with a bored expression, had barely managed a "here you go" before she turned and left. The carnations, a garish shade of pink, screamed "fake" just like he did. No card, of course.

She stared at the flowers, a bitter taste rising in her mouth. Her fingers twitched. She wanted to scream, to shatter something. The air in her small apartment felt thick, cloying. She ran a hand through her hair, the movement jerky and desperate.

She marched to the sink, her steps heavy. She turned on the faucet, the water gushing into the basin. She seized the flowers, ripping the cellophane, and shoved them under the running water, watching the color bleed away.