Gemotions

“Just business,” Leo had mumbled, quickly ending the call as she entered the room. A chill ran down Clara’s spine. It was a familiar feeling, this tightening in her chest. She traced the lines on her palm, a nervous habit she’d picked up. The air felt thick, heavy, as though a storm was brewing.

She felt a sudden urge to clean. To scrub away the imaginary dirt, the perceived imperfections that plagued her. The dust motes dancing in the sunlight seemed to mock her. The spotless kitchen, the meticulously organized pantry—a testament to her efforts to control something, anything.

She stared at the phone bill, the same number appearing again and again, like a recurring nightmare. The feeling that she wasn't good enough, that she was somehow lacking, swirled within her. The walls seemed to close in, and she felt suffocated by her own doubts.