Gemotions

The silence in the apartment felt heavy, suffocating. Michael had finished his monologue about allergies and pet hair, and now the room was filled with the hum of the refrigerator. I felt my face getting hot. He’d gone on and on, detailing every possible negative outcome related to owning a bird, my idea of choice. It was always his way. Always the practical choice.

He turned away from me, resuming his computer work, completely oblivious. I felt a surge of cold fury. The thought of how he disregarded my opinion made me want to scream. I stood up and paced the small living room, my hands clenched into fists.

The small, cramped space felt even smaller.