Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windowpanes, mirroring the storm brewing inside her. He'd started leaving little phrases in her native language on the bathroom mirror in lipstick. They were so…childish. So invasive.

She slammed the door of the guest room. The bed was unmade, the sheets still bearing the faint scent of his cologne. She felt an overwhelming impulse to rip them off, to destroy everything.

He knocked hesitantly. "Can we talk?" The muffled sound through the door only fueled her ire. She stood there, rigid, listening to the drip, drip, drip of water from the leaky faucet. No. She couldn't.