Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mimicking the frantic drumming inside Amelia's chest. She’d found the phone tucked under the mattress, a burner phone, its call log a jumble of unfamiliar numbers. She’d confronted Daniel, her voice a thin, reedy sound, barely audible above the storm. He’d stammered, mumbled excuses about business, and then, the worst part, refused to meet her gaze. The apartment felt suffocating, each breath a fresh stab of disbelief.

The pasta she’d made, his favorite, sat congealing on the plate. She scraped it into the bin, the clatter of the fork a small, insignificant explosion in the unbearable silence. The scent of garlic and basil, which normally soothed her, now only brought a fresh wave of nausea. She went to the bedroom and pulled the duvet over her head, wishing the world would simply disappear.