Gemotions

He’d said no. That's all. Just a flat, simple “no.” Now, Emily was staring at the sleek, black cat carrier she'd placed by the door. It was a tangible protest.

The tiny apartment felt suddenly close. The air seemed thick with the scent of unwashed dishes, of stale coffee, of *his* scent. She could almost feel his presence, a silent pressure in the air, a physical weight she couldn’t shake.

Earlier, she had pleaded, reasoned, even begged. She’d explained the benefits of feline companionship, the therapeutic effects of purring. He'd just crossed his arms and shook his head, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

Now, she refused to look in his direction. Instead, she stared at the carrier, her fingers itching to open it, to let the kitten out. Just a little. He wouldn’t *know*.

The thought was exhilarating, then immediately replaced by a fresh wave of resentment. She wouldn't bend.