Gemotions

The notice, a stark white rectangle, quivered slightly in Amelia’s trembling hand. CONDOS! it screamed, in a font that felt aggressive, invasive. Her jaw clenched. She reread the lease, the words blurring. Her apartment, her sanctuary, was about to become a commodity. She spun, pacing the length of her living room, the worn rug a familiar comfort beneath her feet.

She called her mother, the phone pressed hard against her ear. “No, Mom, I’m not overreacting,” she snapped, her voice tight. The fluorescent lights in the kitchen seemed to hum louder than usual. The incessant drip from the kitchen faucet felt like a personal affront. Amelia hung up the phone and slammed the receiver down, the sound echoing in the sudden silence.

She grabbed a bottle of wine, the clinking of glass against glass grating against her ears. She wasn’t a drinker, not like this. But tonight, she needed something, anything, to quiet the frantic thrumming in her chest.