Gemotions

The sofa cushion molded to her form, a comfortable prison. The remote control, a familiar friend, lay within easy reach. The TV blared a morning show, the cheerful banter a dull backdrop to her thoughts. He was supposed to be working late tonight. The thought of getting up and actually *doing* something felt like a monumental effort.

A low buzz. The phone, on the coffee table. He left it again. This was becoming a habit. It was always on silent. She didn’t even know why he even bothered with the thing. The screen lit up. A call. Unnamed caller. Again. It was happening more and more often. She stared at the screen, a vague unease settling in her stomach. He always claimed he was too busy to answer, but she knew something was up.