Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mimicking the staccato rhythm of Amelia’s pulse. She’d been staring at her phone for an hour, the screen reflecting the pale, drawn look on her face. A text. Meant for Mark. Sent to… her mother. "Just saw you with *her* again. Hope the 'date' was fun." The response? A string of question marks. Her fingers tightened around the phone, knuckles white. She tossed it onto the sofa, the plastic a cold, hard echo against the soft cushions. The world felt wrong, every corner sharp and unforgiving.