Gemotions

The house seemed to shrink around Sarah. Every object, every familiar piece of furniture, felt like a judgment. The air felt thick, heavy, as though the walls were closing in.

Her parents, solicitous and gentle, were now her jailers, their well-meaning smiles a source of irritation. She found herself retreating into long, silent showers, the water a feeble attempt to wash away the feeling of being trapped.

She’d developed a habit of picking at the skin around her fingernails, until they bled. The silence of the house magnified the sounds of her own body, the frantic beating of her heart, the shallow rasp of her breath. The past, she now realized, was a cage.