Gemotions

The cold draft from the open window did little to soothe Eleanor’s unease. She'd discovered the manuscript hidden in the attic, a fictionalized account of their shared life. Now, the image of her partner, Arthur, hunched over his laptop, writing, writing, writing, played on repeat in her mind.

She walked towards the window, but stopped before reaching it. The air was heavy, the world outside blurred with a grey hue that reflected the grey clouds in her head. She ran a hand over the surface of the painting that hung on the wall; she always loved the bright colors. She couldn't focus on the painting or anything else.

She bit her lip, a habit she'd long tried to break. She sat down on the edge of the bed and felt a tremor in her hand, the one that held the manuscript. She closed the book. The book was a mirror, and she did not want to look at herself in it.