Gemotions

The dim lighting of the bar did little to soothe the tension knotting inside David. He nursed his whiskey, the amber liquid swirling idly in the glass. The ice clinked, a brittle percussion to the silent symphony of his dissatisfaction. He hadn't touched his food, the plate of nachos sat there, congealing and sad.

He'd tried to be happy for her, genuinely. But the information, delivered with such casual glee by Maya, had ignited a firestorm of bitterness within him. He kept replaying their last conversation: "I'm in the top bracket for my position now!" He felt like he'd been kicked in the gut.

He swirled the drink around, focusing on his hand and the glass. He felt like his hands were the wrong size, his fingers awkward. He signaled for the check, the gesture tight, clipped. He paid and left the bar.