Gemotions

Eliza walked through the kitchen, the linoleum floor cold under her feet. Her brother, Samuel, sat at the table, already immersed in a book. She longed for that kind of focus, that kind of ease. Her mind raced, a constant tide of self-doubt.

She moved automatically, finding the cleaning supplies. The windows needed washing, the floors needed scrubbing. She attacked the tasks with a ferocity that surprised even her. She had to be useful, had to be productive.

Samuel finally looked up. “What are you doing?” he asked, his brow furrowed. She jumped, startled. “Just... cleaning,” she mumbled, her cheeks flushing. The fear that her efforts were somehow wrong, somehow inadequate, wrapped around her like a constricting band.