Gemotions

The metallic tang of betrayal clung to Mark's tongue. He had overheard the tail end of the conversation. His wife, Emily, whispering into the phone in hushed tones, the words laced with a familiarity that made his chest ache. He couldn’t look at her, not directly. He focused on the chipped paint on the wall, the dust motes dancing in the sunlight. He excused himself from the dinner table, claiming a sudden headache. He felt the need to be alone, to scrub the offending words from his memory, from his very existence.