Gemotions

"Oh, for crying out loud," Maya muttered, slumping back against the kitchen counter. Her shoulders were bunched up near her ears, and she felt a pressure building in her chest. It was like someone had taken a steel band and tightened it around her ribcage. The words "Michael Davies wants to be your friend" mocked her from the phone display.

She was suddenly acutely aware of every detail of the kitchen. The chipped paint on the cupboards. The faint smell of coffee grounds. The silence, which was punctuated only by the ticking of the kitchen clock. Each second seemed to stretch out, creating a heavy sense of anticipation.

Her hands moved on their own volition. She reached for the faucet and turned on the water, letting it run cold over her wrists, as if she could wash away the memories and the current unease. She needed to do something, anything, to distract herself. But from what? From the past? The future? From the simple act of choosing to click "Accept" or "Ignore"?