Gemotions

Eliza squinted against the relentless afternoon sun, the glare reflecting off the overgrown weeds choking the garden. This whole place… it was a disaster. Her brother, Thomas, whistled a jaunty tune as he examined a rusted wheelbarrow. He didn't get it, the utter feeling of dread that settled in her stomach every time she looked at the peeling paint and the sagging porch.

“Want me to try and fix it?” Thomas asked, pointing to a broken window. She just shook her head, the gesture tight and terse. The thought of lifting a finger, of engaging in any kind of physical exertion, was exhausting. She wished everyone would leave her alone.

The scent of honeysuckle, once a comfort, now felt cloying and intrusive. She retreated inside, the cool air of the house doing little to soothe the tightness in her chest. She needed a drink. Maybe two.