Gemotions

The flickering fluorescent lights of the hospital waiting room swam before Amelia's eyes. She clutched the worn edges of her denim jacket, the fabric twisting into a knot in her hands. The sterile, antiseptic smell clawed at her throat, making her want to bolt. Across the room, a man with a shock of unruly grey hair stared intensely at the television, but she could feel his gaze on her anyway.

A nurse called her name, and Amelia felt a jolt of something akin to panic. Her palms were slick. She didn't want to go. She hadn't wanted to come. Her legs felt heavy, as if made of lead. "Amelia?" the nurse repeated, and Amelia forced her feet to move.

The doctor's office was small, crammed with medical charts and diagrams. Dr. Chen, a kind-faced woman with tired eyes, sat opposite her. "We've got the results back," she began, her voice soft. "And…it's confirmed. You have Proxima Syndrome."

Amelia already knew. She’d sensed it in the way the man across the room had looked at her, a strange knowing in his eyes. She’d felt the echo of it in her own chest.