Gemotions

The apartment felt different now, colder, emptier. The air itself seemed to vibrate with a suppressed energy. I looked at the notice, the stark words a constant reminder of the injustice.

I picked it up, my fingers brushing against the crisp paper. My nails dug into the surface, leaving small indentations. A wave of nausea washed over me. I felt the slow, creeping tendrils of a consuming bitterness.

I crumpled the notice, a silent act of defiance. The apartment was mine, had been. And they were wrong. I would not give in.