Gemotions

A wave of nausea hit Mark as he watched Sarah, his ex, laughing easily with the bride's cousin. His hands, usually steady, felt clumsy as he reached for a canapé, dropping it back onto the tray with a clatter. Everything seemed too bright, too loud. The joyous music grated on his nerves. He found himself excessively aware of the way his shirt felt against his skin, a suffocating presence.

He remembered her smile, the way she used to crinkle her nose when she laughed. Now, seeing it directed at someone else, felt like a physical blow. He felt a need to put distance between them, and the space was shrinking, he could feel it. He needed to avoid her. He felt the phantom pain in his chest that had haunted him for months after their split.

The floral arrangements, once beautiful, now seemed garish, the colours swirling and blurring before his eyes. He mumbled an excuse to the person he was talking to and quickly stepped towards the bar. He ordered a double whiskey, the burn a welcome distraction, a hard, physical counterpoint to the soft, swirling chaos inside him.