Gemotions

She clawed at the chipped paint on the diner booth, the metallic tang of anxiety filling her mouth. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, amplifying the oppressive weight in her chest. “Mark, it’s crucial,” she began, her voice a strained croak. “The key… you saw me put it in the box, right?”

Mark, chomping on a greasy burger, glanced up, a wrinkle of bewilderment creasing his brow. "The key? Sarah, what are you talking about? I don't remember any key. Or a box."

Her fingers trembled. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to conjure the image, the feeling of the heavy metal pressing against her palm. It had been pivotal. “We were at the lake. The picnic… It had to be there.” She pressed on, her voice climbing in pitch.

He shrugged, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "We just ate. Remember the ice cream we had? That was pretty good." His relaxed demeanor was a red flag. He didn't even *try* to recall. Her chest felt like a brick.