Gemotions

"Just... just leave it," she whispered to herself, as if the inanimate object would listen. The rejection was tucked away in her coat pocket, pressing a cold, unwelcome familiarity against her hip. She stood outside the publishing house, the sleek glass facade reflecting her own defeated expression.

She hadn't slept well in weeks, and her vision swam a little as she pushed open the heavy front door of her apartment building. The elevator creaked, a mournful sound echoing the hollowness inside her. Each step felt like a victory over gravity.

The apartment itself was dimly lit, the curtains drawn against the bright afternoon. She moved like a ghost, barely touching the furniture, as she changed into an old, oversized hoodie. She sank onto the couch, the cushions offering only a shallow comfort. The television remained silent, the remote controls were scattered on the coffee table. She didn't want any noise, any distraction. Just… quiet.