Gemotions

The phone rang incessantly, the shrill sound grating against her already frayed nerves. She let it ring, the unanswered calls a testament to her circumstances. The conversion notice, a formal document of doom, sat on her desk, surrounded by unpaid bills.

She walked from room to room, touching the walls as if to reassure herself. This was the only place she had. This was where she felt safe, or had felt safe. A cold sweat beaded on her forehead. The apartment began to feel less like a home and more like a tomb.

She had to do something, anything. The thought of facing the world alone, without this familiar haven, was crippling. She bit her lip, tasting the metallic tang of fear.