Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the tempest inside Mark. He stared at the spreadsheet, the numbers blurring, mirroring the chaos that seemed to perpetually inhabit his thoughts. Across the cramped office, Sarah hummed, a cheerful, oblivious sound that grated on his nerves. He wanted to tell her to shut up, but instead, he just gritted his teeth and hunched his shoulders, feigning absorption in his work.

“Hey Mark,” Sarah chirped, “did you ever go to Camp Clearwater?”

His head snapped up, a jolt of surprise coursing through him. He hadn’t spoken about that place in decades. He regarded her with suspicion, his expression as closed off as the locked door of his childhood bedroom.

“Why do you ask?” The words were curt, clipped. He noticed her smile falter, just a fraction.

“My cousin runs it now. I was looking through some old photos, and…,” she trailed off. “You wouldn’t have been there, would you? It’s been… a while.”

He focused on the imperfections in the cheap laminate of his desk. “Yeah, I was.”