Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the kitchen seemed to hum louder than usual, a grating, persistent sound. Maya shoved the notice into the back pocket of her jeans, the paper crinkling against her thigh. She stared at the nearly empty fridge. No milk. No eggs. Just a jar of pickles and some wilting lettuce. Her stomach twisted with a familiar ache.

She slammed the fridge door. The sound echoed in the cramped apartment. She picked at a loose thread on the ancient floral wallpaper, pulling it until it snapped. She needed a distraction, something, anything to pull her out of the spiral. The thought of facing the impending move, the unpacking, the utter lack of resources made her jaw clench.

She went to the sink and turned on the faucet, letting the water run cold for a long time. She leaned against the counter, her arms crossed, watching the water swirl down the drain, and found no solace.