Gemotions

"Are you even listening?" Her voice, usually light and playful, now held a sharp edge. I stared out the window, at the grey sky mirroring the inside of my head. The manuscript, my life, laid bare in front of me, had left me with a bitter taste in my mouth.

The rain started to fall, smearing the glass. I didn't reply, just fiddled with the loose thread on my jeans. I felt a coldness creeping into my bones.

She sighed, a sound that felt like a pinprick against the wall of icy resentment I'd built. "Fine," she said, her voice dropping. The silence following her statement was a physical weight.

I just wanted her to disappear.