Gemotions

The elevator doors opened with a metallic groan, and Sarah flinched. The air in the building felt thick, suffocating. She couldn't stop the rapid beat of her heart, a frantic drum against her ribs. She usually enjoyed the familiar scent of old wood and cleaning products in the hallway, but now it felt cloying, oppressive.

She had to remind herself to breathe, slow, steady breaths. Each step felt deliberate, each click of her shoes a potential intrusion. She fumbled with her keys, finally unlocking the door to her apartment.

The familiar space, usually a refuge, felt alien. She wandered from room to room, touching the surfaces, the worn bookshelf, the chipped paint on the window frame. A wave of nausea washed over her. The knowledge, that this home, this haven, was slipping away, tightened her throat.