Gemotions

The air felt thick, heavy with some invisible burden. Chloe sprawled on the couch, every muscle screaming in protest. The ceiling fan spun lazily overhead, failing to provide any actual relief. Outside the front door, a package sat – addressed to "Mrs. Eleanor Vance". The previous tenant.

She knew she should probably bring it to her. Maybe she could call her. But the thought of making small talk, of pretending to care, felt utterly exhausting. She closed her eyes, imagining the warmth of her bed, and focused on the quiet, the peace, the complete lack of expectation. The box could wait.