Gemotions

The phone vibrated. No message. Just the flowers, delivered right after she’d put the phone back down. Her hands, clammy, fumbled with the wrapping. A cascade of colour spilled onto the counter, a symphony of yellows and oranges. She didn't want the joy of the colour.

She let out a harsh, short breath. She thought she was doing better, but the sight of them, without a single word to tell her who'd sent them, made her want to crawl back under the covers and stay there forever. She didn't want to analyse them. Her brain seemed to feel like it was filled with glue.

She wanted to call someone, anyone, but the thought of forming sentences felt impossible. She put the flowers on the table and went and lay on the sofa, the light from the window catching the dust motes and making her eyes water.