Gemotions

"Dinner with friends," she'd chirped, her voice light and airy, as she had slipped out. James had heard the familiar cadence of her lies and he had seen the way she was dressed up. He had listened to the phone call. Now, he was alone, staring at the unopened takeout containers on the kitchen island.

He walked into the garage, grabbed a can of bright red paint, and started painting the living room wall. It was a messy, impulsive act, a splash of rebellion against the meticulous order she demanded. He needed to leave his mark. The fumes stung his eyes, but he kept painting, red spreading like a wound.