Gemotions

The roses were perfect, a vibrant crimson that seemed to pulse in the dim light of her apartment. They sat on the coffee table, a beautiful, unwelcome guest. She wanted to scream.

She moved around the apartment, putting everything in its place. She was methodical, precise. She needed to feel in control. She felt the urge to destroy.

She poured the whiskey, a generous amount, into a glass. She’d drink it and forget about this unwanted reminder of what she'd lost. Maybe then, they’d be able to tolerate each other.