Gemotions

The world felt muted, like someone had turned down the volume. Liam stared at the ceiling, the patterns of the stucco a dull, grey canvas. The insistent ringing of the phone finally dragged him from his stupor. It was Mrs. Petrov, her voice sharp and insistent, echoing through the phone, something he had grown accustomed to.

"Liam, darling, about that sycamore on the border…" She launched into a detailed explanation of sunlight blockage, leaf debris, and potential damage to her roof. He rubbed his temples, a dull ache throbbing behind his eyes.

He didn't have the energy to argue, to negotiate, to even pretend to disagree. The thought of facing another battle, another demand, felt crushing. He listened to her detailed complaints, the words washing over him, leaving him feeling hollowed out. Finally, he gave the only reply he could muster, a weak, "Alright, whatever you want."