Gemotions

The coffee shop was too bright, the music too saccharine. He spotted *her* across the room. He’d seen the photo online, of course. His painting, now permanently etched onto the curve of her shoulder blade.

He took a slow, deliberate sip of his latte, carefully watching her, the way she laughed with her friend, the way she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, the oblivious bliss of her movements.

He felt his lips tighten into a thin, straight line. He should go over and confront her. Demand an explanation. But the thought of any interaction was repulsive.

He rose from the table, his movements slow and precise, and dropped a crumpled bill on the table. He didn't even acknowledge the barista, who mumbled a goodbye. He just needed to leave.