Gemotions

He’d found a crumpled receipt on the floor, the faded ink barely legible. It detailed the ingredients for a particularly elaborate chocolate cake, the one she'd baked on her last good day. Now, the memory felt like a phantom limb, a reminder of something she could no longer feel.

A cough interrupted his rumination. “Hey, you okay?” David, his roommate, stood by the doorway, a book clutched in his hands. It was his. Its cover was turned inside out.

His face flushed crimson. “Did you read my journal?” he asked, the words a thin thread of sound. His throat constricted.

“No, absolutely not!” David stammered. The lie was as obvious as the heavy silence that followed. He just wanted to be left alone.