Gemotions

He had told her he’d call. The text, sent three hours ago, was still unanswered. Now, these flowers. A sudden, unexpected splash of color on her kitchen table. The vibrant hues seemed to mock the muted tones of her mood. Amelia traced a finger over a velvety petal, a tremor running through her.

Her breath hitched. She couldn't breathe properly. She yanked the bouquet closer, burying her face in the blossoms, inhaling their saccharine perfume. She felt her throat constrict.

"Stupid," she muttered, her voice thin. She pushed away from the table, pacing the length of her tiny living room, the flowers a constant, unwelcome presence in her line of sight. It was the same as last time, wasn’t it? The same empty gestures.

She reached for the phone, then stopped, her hand hovering in mid-air. She sank into the armchair, the silence closing in around her, suffocating.