Gemotions

"No, no, no," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her stomach churned. The brightly colored notice, attached to the door of the laundry room, seemed to pulse with an ominous glow. Her usual meticulous routine of folding laundry was now impossible.

She clutched the faded fabric of a favorite t-shirt, crushing it in her hands. She felt a sharp pain in her chest, as if someone had just punched her. She found herself running her hands over the walls, tracing the familiar lines of the paint. She felt a desperate need to hold onto something, to anchor herself to the present moment.

She backed away from the laundry room, as if it was a source of poison, and retreated to her apartment. Her apartment, she realized, might not be hers for much longer. The thought sent a fresh wave of despair through her.