Gemotions

Rain slicked the pavement outside the gallery, mirroring the sheen of sweat on Arthur's forehead. Inside, amidst the pretentious chatter and clinking champagne flutes, he saw her. Amelia. And she stared at him blankly, that same vacant smile he’d seen directed at several strangers already.

A knot tightened in his gut. The painting she was admiring, a vibrant splash of color, suddenly seemed garish and crude. He felt a wave of nausea, a need to flee the sterile air and the suffocating sense of unreality.

"You… you look familiar," she said, her tone polite, detached. He wanted to shout, to scream at the injustice of it. Instead, he forced a smile, a grimace really, and mumbled something about the weather, backing away slowly, as if she were a diseased animal.