Gemotions

The restaurant was packed, the clinking of glasses and the chatter of the crowd grating on Leo’s nerves. He hadn’t spoken to anyone since reading the news. He felt sick. He had idolized Alistair Finch. Now, he felt the need to wash the taste of him from his mouth.

He watched the waiter approach, his movements slow and deliberate. He requested water and no ice. He'd lost his appetite. He thought of all the times he'd recommended Finch’s novels, all the hours spent lost in his worlds. He felt like a fool.

He sat there, perfectly still, as the room spun.