Gemotions

The paper crackled in Eleanor’s trembling hands. It wasn't the landlord’s fault; she knew that. She was behind on rent, again. The words blurred before her eyes, each syllable a tiny jab. She crumpled the notice, then smoothed it out, a nervous tic. Her breath hitched, shallow and uneven, as if she'd been running. She needed to sit.

Her legs felt like they were filled with sand. She stumbled toward the worn sofa, the floral pattern a mocking reminder of happier times. She sank onto it, the springs groaning in protest. Tears welled, but she swallowed them down, determined not to let them fall. The silence of the apartment felt heavy, suffocating.

She stared at the chipped paint on the wall, the peeling wallpaper a reflection of her own unraveling. The world tilted slightly, and she felt a wave of nausea. She closed her eyes, imagining the scent of the landlord’s cologne, the way he always smiled, and she felt a sharp, hollow ache in her chest.