Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of the hospital room, mirroring the tempest within Amelia. The doctor had delivered the news gently, but Amelia’s jaw tightened. A rare genetic condition, something that meant regular infusions, and a lifetime of restrictions. She barely listened. He’d suggested a support group. Amelia scoffed internally. She didn’t *need* a group. She’d figure this out. She always did. Her fingers drummed a frantic rhythm against the sterile white bedsheets. The thought of admitting weakness or seeking help made her chest constrict.

She ignored the pamphlets the nurse left, tossing them onto the far side of the bedside table. Later, when the doctor came back to check in on her, she dismissed his concerns with a curt nod and a mumbled, "I understand." He looked unconvinced, but she met his gaze without flinching. That night, she snuck out, ignoring the after-effects that were already hitting her. She would manage this, alone.