Gemotions

The email sat in Eleanor’s inbox, glowing with a malevolent light. It was from a colleague, praising her ‘brilliant’ new article. Eleanor knew, instantly, what she would find. Her stomach churned, a cold wave breaking against her ribs. She clicked the link, her mouse shaking. There, on the glossy website, was the article she'd poured months of effort into, but now, it bore the name 'Dr. Arthur Penhaligon.' A flush crept up her neck, scorching her face. She closed the laptop with a snap, the sound echoing in the sudden quiet of her apartment.

Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging into her palms. She felt a bizarre tightness in her throat, a physical obstruction to any response. Then, the tears started, unbidden, hot and stinging. She sank onto the sofa, burying her face in a cushion, the scent of lavender doing little to calm the storm raging inside. It felt as though her lungs were collapsing.

She didn't want to answer the congratulatory emails that began pouring in. She shut off the lights and drew the curtains. A shadow of herself, curled into a ball, she stayed like that for hours.