Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the kitchen seemed to hum louder than usual, a high-pitched whine that grated on Eleanor's ears. She gripped the chipped mug of lukewarm tea tighter, knuckles white. The rhythmic thumping from next door had started again, a relentless bass line to her internal tremors. She slammed the mug down, the ceramic hitting the countertop with a crack. Her jaw clenched, and she paced the tiny kitchen.

A vein throbbed in her temple. She grabbed her phone, scrolling through her contacts, pausing on the name "Mr. Henderson." He was the one. He was always the one. Then she deleted the message she had written, and instead, went to her coat.

The walk was the only option. She would speak. She needed to speak. She pushed through the door.