Gemotions

“Another one?” Sarah muttered, picking up the box. It was the third package in as many weeks, all addressed to “Mr. Bartholomew Hayes.” She didn’t know who he was, and she certainly didn’t want his things. A hot, angry flush crept up her neck.

She kicked the box aside, then immediately regretted it. The act felt aggressive, reckless. She picked it up again, her jaw clenched. She needed to deal with this, somehow. The feeling of vulnerability she experienced with each delivery was wearing her down.

She knew she should call the post office, but a strange hesitancy kept her from it. The package sat in the corner of her living room, a silent, unwanted guest, and she couldn't bring herself to get rid of it.