Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the relentless drumming in Eleanor’s head. She’d stayed in bed until noon, the sheets tangled around her legs like a shroud. The world felt muffled, distant, as if viewed through a thick pane of glass. When she finally dragged herself downstairs, she found a book tucked under the sofa, a battered copy of a novel she'd never seen before. The dedication read, "To Eleanor, whose fire illuminates my darkest nights." Her name. Her heart hammered against her ribs, and a tremor ran through her limbs. Inside, she found a fictionalized account of their life together, peppered with cruel observations about her moods, her silence, her growing withdrawal.