Gemotions

The gallery buzzed, a cocktail of hushed whispers and clinking glasses. Amelia spotted her painting – a vulnerable self-portrait, raw with emotion – hanging prominently near the entrance. She’d never wanted it seen, not like this, not by these people. Her face flushed, a heat creeping up her neck and staining her cheeks. She ducked her head, hoping to disappear amongst the throng.

She clutched her purse so tightly her knuckles whitened. The painting's unveiling was weeks away, a carefully planned event. Who had done this? A knot formed in her stomach, twisting with a sickening unease. She wanted to bolt, to flee the suffocating space and the judging eyes.

She tried to rationalize it. Maybe it was a mistake? Perhaps she was mistaken? But the stark reality of the piece, the intimate details exposed, was a searing confirmation. She felt a profound violation, a violation of her privacy. She found herself backing away, desperate for air, the noise of the gallery suddenly deafening.