Gemotions

The ringing phone was a jolt. Amelia flinched, answering it with a forced cheerfulness. “Yes, hello, yes, I’ll… I’ll be right there.” Her smile felt stiff, brittle. Her neighbor, Mrs. Gable, a woman with a penchant for complaining, wanted her help with a leaky faucet.

Amelia’s apartment door slammed shut behind her, the noise echoing in the narrow hallway. She felt a wave of nausea wash over her. It wasn't the plumbing; it was the expectation, the constant demands that bound her.

She pushed open Mrs. Gable's door. The small house seemed even smaller than her own, cluttered and oppressive. She walked to the sink, the drip of the water a slow, steady drumbeat. Fixing the faucet would be a relief, but fixing the situation felt impossible.