Gemotions

The phone slipped from Amelia’s suddenly nerveless fingers, bouncing once on the hardwood floor before settling, a mocking black eye. She paced, each footfall a hammer blow against the quiet of her apartment. That *creature*—Brenda, her best friend, the supposed mastermind behind her surprise party—had the gall to call and say… *cancelled*? Amelia wanted to scream, to shatter something. The months of planning, the clandestine emails, the whispered phone calls, the carefully curated guest list. All for *nothing*.

Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging crescents into her palms. The air in the apartment felt thick, suffocating. She grabbed her keys, slamming the door behind her with such force that the neighbors’ dog yelped. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be.