Gemotions

The flickering fluorescent lights of the office hummed, a monotonous soundtrack to Amelia's existence. She slumped against the worn-out sofa, the threadbare fabric doing little to cushion her. The paperwork in front of her seemed to multiply with every blink. Mark, her partner, walked in, a small smile playing on his lips. "So," he began in heavily accented Spanish, "how was your día?" Amelia stared at him, bewildered. She rubbed her temples, a dull ache throbbing behind her eyes. "¿Que?" she managed, her voice flat. He'd been secretly studying her language? The energy drained from her, leaving her feeling like a puppet with cut strings.