Gemotions

"This can’t be happening," she repeated, the words a mantra, a futile attempt to ward off the inevitable. Her voice cracked. She gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, her knuckles bone-white. The linoleum tiles seemed to undulate beneath her feet.

She started cleaning. Scrubbing the already spotless counters. Wiping down the appliances. She had to do something, anything, to regain control.

The more she cleaned, the faster she moved. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps. Her vision began to tunnel, focusing solely on the immediate task at hand. The apartment, once her sanctuary, felt cold, unfamiliar, a place she no longer belonged.

She wouldn’t let them see her like this. She wouldn't.