Gemotions

The clatter of the pans had ceased. A terse knock. A neighbour. A complaint. Emily sat on the edge of the bed, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She clutched the note to her chest, the flimsy paper crinkling in her grasp. The scent of onions and garlic, usually comforting, now seemed cloying.

She felt a wave of nausea wash over her. She stared at the closed kitchen door. Had she been too loud? Had the music from the radio carried? She needed to calm down.

She buried her face in her hands. The feeling of being watched was almost unbearable. Each sound felt amplified. She longed to go back to sleep.