Gemotions

He’d said it so casually, a comment about the noise and the late hours. But the way he'd leaned in, the predatory gleam in his eyes, had sent a shiver down her spine. Now, every slam of a car door, every rustle in the bushes outside, made her jump.

Sleep became a distant memory. She tossed and turned, her mind replaying the encounter, each detail magnified, each gesture imbued with a sinister meaning. The apartment felt different, tainted.

She started leaving the lights on, a futile attempt to ward off the encroaching darkness. Her hands trembled as she locked the door, and then, after a moment of hesitation, double-locked it again.