Gemotions

The rain outside mirrored the storm inside her. Each drop against the window was a hammer blow against her tightly held control. He had the nerve to look… concerned.

“It seems you’re struggling,” he observed, his voice soft.

Her hands were balled into fists so tight her nails drew blood. “Struggling?” She scoffed, the sound sharp and brittle. "Is that what you call it?"

She pictured him, as a boy, delighted to see her upset. The anger simmered, threatening to boil over. She felt the sudden urge to be anywhere but there.