Gemotions

The keys clattered as she fumbled with them, her hands trembling slightly. Her reflection in the hallway mirror showed a woman whose face was etched with the strain of too many late nights and too little sleep. The fluorescent lights overhead seemed to hum with a hateful resonance.

He was waiting, a small, brightly colored book open on the coffee table. He greeted her with a tentative, "Konnichiwa, my love." The accent was awful, the pronunciation garbled. She hated how it made her feel.

A wave of nausea washed over her. She felt the urge to flee, to escape the confines of this apartment, to escape the pressure. Each muscle ached as if she had run a marathon. Her defenses were down, every little thing a burden.