Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the tempest brewing inside Eleanor. She clutched the letter, the paper soaked from the dampness of her sweaty palms. The words swam before her eyes, blurring into an indistinct mess of regret. She had spent years trying not to think about *him*.

The small kitchen felt cramped, the walls closing in. She paced the length of the room, her footsteps a frantic tattoo against the linoleum floor. The radio blared a cheerful tune, which felt like a direct insult. She slammed the dial, silencing the noise.

She began to gather the discarded takeout containers from last night’s meal, stacking them haphazardly on the counter. She wanted to hurl them all into the wall. The impulse to break something, anything, surged through her.