Gemotions

The phone slipped from Amelia’s hand, clattering onto the sterile tile floor. She didn't bother picking it up. It lay there, a gleaming, offensive black rectangle. The message she'd intended for her therapist, regarding the root canal, had gone, instead, to her mother. Now, it was out there. Available to be read. She made a guttural noise and gripped the sink, knuckles white.

She slammed the door shut, ignoring the faint squeak of the hinges. The smell of the hospital, normally comforting, now turned her stomach. The fluorescent lights seemed to buzz louder. Everything felt unclean.

"Oh, mother," she muttered, the name leaving a bad taste in her mouth. She rinsed her mouth repeatedly with tap water, trying to scrub away the phantom grime.