Gemotions

The pounding started again, a rhythmic thud that vibrated through the floorboards. Amelia clutched the edge of her chipped mug, her knuckles white. She’d tried to ignore it, to lose herself in the crossword, but the bass was unrelenting. Each pulse seemed to burrow into her chest, making her breath catch in her throat. She glanced at the clock: 3:17 PM. On a Tuesday.

Her heart hammered against her ribs. She felt a prickle of sweat form at her hairline. Swallowing hard, she stood and paced the small living room, stopping at the window to peer at the offending house. The blinds were drawn. A low, guttural moan escaped her lips.

This again. The note she had written a month ago, the one about keeping the noise down, still sat untouched on the counter, crumpled. She felt paralyzed, unable to move forward, and each thud of the music felt like a fresh blow.