Gemotions

The phone slipped from Amelia’s clammy hand, clattering against the ceramic tile of her bathroom floor. A blush, hot and unwelcome, crawled up her neck. She’d meant to text her sister, a simple “Did you get that thing I sent?” Instead, the message now shimmered on her boss, Mr. Henderson’s, phone screen. Her stomach lurched. He was probably already imagining her as incompetent, a bumbling fool.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror, the image magnified by the anxiety blooming in her chest. Her eyes, usually bright, now seemed dull, reflecting only the harsh overhead light. She quickly scrubbed at her face, as if she could erase the error with a vigorous rub.

She knew she should call him, apologize, but her hand hovered over the phone, frozen. The internal voice, the one that usually found something wrong with everything she did, was now screaming its disapproval. It was a vicious cycle. She would never measure up.