Gemotions

The tiny apartment felt suddenly cavernous. Sarah watched Mark pace, his usual jovial energy completely gone. He was practically vibrating with excitement over the idea of a kitten, while she found herself clutching the edge of the kitchen counter. Her pulse hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

“Think of it, Sarah! A little ball of fluff! We could name him… Captain Meowington!” Mark bounced on the balls of his feet, oblivious to her rigid posture.

Her mouth felt dry. "Maybe... maybe we should wait." The words were barely a whisper, a tremor underlying each syllable. The thought of a creature, dependent and unpredictable, roaming their already cramped space, sent a chill crawling up her spine.

She looked at her own hands, fingers intertwined, and felt a profound need to run. To escape. The sudden prospect of responsibility felt like a trap closing in on her.