Gemotions

The spreadsheet was laid bare on the laptop screen, a blinding white rectangle against the dim room. Amelia slammed the lid shut, the click echoing in the sudden quiet. Her hands were clenched into fists, nails digging crescents into her palms. Thirty-thousand dollars. Thirty *thousand*. She grabbed her coat, not bothering to zip it, and stalked out into the biting November air, the front door slamming shut behind her with a resounding crash.

She drove, aimlessly at first, the car a metal cage around her boiling fury. Then, she pulled over at the first dingy bar she saw, the neon OPEN sign a beacon in the twilight. She practically threw herself onto a stool, slapping her hand on the counter. "Whiskey," she barked at the bartender, her voice tight. “Make it a double.”

The amber liquid burned a satisfying path down her throat.