Gemotions

“Please,” the voice on the phone whined. “Just a little quieter?” Sarah hung up, the words still echoing in her ears. She dropped her phone onto the kitchen counter, the action imbued with a sense of utter defeat. The noise from the next apartment, a thumping bass beat, seemed to vibrate through her teeth.

She stared out the window, at the vibrant life outside. Each movement seemed like more work than she could possibly manage. The doorbell chimed. It was Mr. Garcia, his eyes narrowed. “The music,” he began. His voice was cold.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. She shut the door, and leaned against it, the sound fading but the sensation of being drained, as empty as the space around her, lingered.