Gemotions

The pounding in Amelia’s head felt like a relentless drum solo, perfectly synchronized with the incessant thumping bass vibrating through the floorboards. She pulled the covers over her head, wishing for the silence of a tomb. The complaint from Mrs. Gable, delivered with a thinly veiled air of disdain, echoed in her mind: "The music is simply too loud, dear."

She hadn't even been listening to music.

A wave of nausea washed over her. She stumbled out of bed, her limbs heavy, and fumbled for a glass of water. The tap dripped, each drop a tiny hammer blow against her already frayed nerves. She needed to apologize, to smooth things over, before the complaints escalated. The thought of facing Mrs. Gable, the woman’s icy scrutiny, was enough to make her want to crawl back into bed and disappear.