Gemotions

The musty scent of lavender and mothballs hit Clara like a physical blow as she stepped inside the house. It was a smell that always made her skin prickle. Sunlight sliced through the dusty windows, illuminating dancing motes in the air, and she found herself tracing the light with a fingertip, a slow, deliberate movement. Her brother, Leo, was already in the kitchen, rummaging through a cupboard. “Anything good in here, Leo?” she asked, her voice a little breathy, a little higher than usual.

Leo grunted, emerging with a jar of her grandmother's pickled onions. Clara’s gaze drifted down to his forearms, the way the sunlight caught the fine hairs there. She swallowed, feeling a strange tightening in her chest.

“Pickled onions? Really?” she managed, picking up a chipped teacup and turning it in her hands. She wondered if the old woman had ever used this one, if her lips had touched the rim.

Her brother laughed, a short bark of a sound. "Want one?" he said. His eyes flickered up to hers. She felt something in her belly flip.