Gemotions

The air was electric, crackling with unspoken tension. I sat in my chair, staring at the empty space on the rug. My boyfriend, Tom, was on his phone, scrolling through images of chinchillas. He was talking about how soft they are. I felt a tightening in my chest, a physical reaction to his enthusiasm.

"They're relatively low-maintenance," he'd said earlier, his voice filled with a persuasive lilt. But I knew better. Low-maintenance to him was high-maintenance to me.

I picked at the edge of the sofa, suddenly consumed with counting the individual threads. The thought of the constant shedding, of the need for specialized care, filled me with a deep, internal resistance.