Gemotions

The rhythmic thump of the bass from the club next door vibrated through Maya’s apartment floor, a relentless percussion that mirrored the erratic beat of her heart. She stared at the screen, the glowing comments on “Chef Antoine’s Spicy Salsa” a barrage of praise. Her spicy salsa.

She rubbed the small of her back, a habit that started when she felt anxious. Every positive review felt like a sharp jab. She had been thrilled when a local chef had reached out to try her salsa, now she was seething. He’d promised to put her name, but instead, it was all under his name and brand.

She felt a phantom tightening in her chest. She had to stop the panic attack before it could get worse. She stood to take a walk, the apartment a confining cage now.