Gemotions

The rhythmic thump of the bass from Leo's "recording studio" next door had always annoyed Martha. He'd claimed to be a music producer, a story that felt increasingly thin with each passing week. The expensive car parked outside, the late-night parties, the constant stream of new acquaintances – it all felt out of sync.

She'd started listening more closely, the music’s muffled rhythms now a source of irritation, each thump a beat in a frantic drum. Last night, through a crack in the wall, she heard frantic shouting mixed with electronic music. She spent the next day watching, from her window.

This morning, she saw a large, unfamiliar man enter the building and leave, carrying a suspicious-looking suitcase. Martha felt a strange prickling sensation in her scalp. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was missing something significant.