Gemotions

He watched her walk by, the scent of her perfume a cruel reminder of sun-soaked summers and scraped knees. Sarah, he thought, with a sneer curling his lip. She, of all people, was now a fashion influencer, judging him from her phone screen. He'd waited outside her book signing for an hour, the rain plastering his hair to his forehead. Now, face to face, he felt like a bug under a magnifying glass.

"Um, can I help you?" Her voice was saccharine sweet, the kind that made his teeth ache. He shifted his weight, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. He wanted to scream.

He forced a smile, a grimace really. “Sarah? It’s…Mark. From the…campground?” He hated the way his voice wavered. She tilted her head, a practiced pose, and her lips parted like someone had just told a joke.

The light from the display window made her look like an alien, cold and distant. “I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice dripping in synthetic concern. “I get this a lot.” He wanted to throw up.