Gemotions

The paper crackled in Eleanor’s trembling hand, a sound that amplified the deafening silence of the apartment. She reread the words, the harsh black ink a cruel joke against the cheerful floral wallpaper. Her cheeks burned. She wanted to crumple the notice and disappear, but her fingers, clumsy with shame, wouldn’t obey. She pictured Mrs. Gable, the landlord, her face a mask of disapproval. Eleanor squeezed her eyes shut, imagining the whispered conversations of the other tenants, the pitying glances.

The tea she'd brewed, now cold in her mug, was forgotten. A knot tightened in her stomach. She felt a sudden, urgent need to flee, to run far away from this building, this city, this life that suddenly felt brittle and exposed.