Gemotions

She drummed her fingers on the worn leather of her car seat, the rhythm a frantic counterpoint to the song emanating from the radio. A knot tightened in her chest. It was her song, a ballad she’d written after... well, after *everything*. The singer’s voice, a saccharine imitation of her own raw vulnerability, grated on her ears. The lyrics, the words she’d bled onto the page, felt hollow, cheapened. She switched off the radio, the sudden silence amplifying the thrumming in her ears.