Gemotions

The humid air of the apartment felt thick, heavy, like a suffocating blanket. Sarah watched Mark, his face lit by the screen of his phone, as he scrolled through adoption websites. A small, yappy dog, he'd announced. A little ball of fluff to fill the emptiness, he'd said. Her fingers tightened into fists.

She knew his allergies. She knew he hated cleaning. She knew, deep down, he wasn't ready for the responsibility.

Later that evening, she subtly nudged the thermostat upwards while he was asleep. The next morning, Mark woke up sneezing and scratching. A soft giggle escaped her lips as she watched him run to the bathroom, red-eyed and miserable. She poured him a large glass of orange juice. *You'll need it, my friend*.