Gemotions

The crayon scraped harshly against the paper, a crimson gash across the blue sky. Maya glared at the drawing, a portrait of her niece, Lily, and a lanky figure with mismatched limbs and a perpetually grinning face. That face. It was *him*. Thomas. She hadn't thought about him in years. "Lily," Maya said, her voice tight, "who's this?"

Lily, oblivious, pointed a jam-smeared finger. "That's Sparky! He's my best friend." Maya's jaw clenched. She remembered Sparky. The imaginary companion she'd conjured to escape the loneliness of her own childhood. The thought of Lily—innocent, trusting Lily—being privy to *that* again stirred something cold in her stomach.

“I think I’m going to go now,” Maya blurted out, her hands starting to shake. She forced a smile, a brittle, fragile thing. She knew her sister would expect a long visit. But Maya couldn't breathe in this room anymore. She simply couldn’t.