Gemotions

Sarah slammed the newspaper down on the counter, the force of it making the coffee mugs rattle. A grin, wide and unsettling, split her face. Her hands flew to her face, fingers digging into her cheeks. This was it. The review, a savage takedown of her new bistro, had landed like a bomb. It wasn’t just bad, it was *brutal.*

"Well, well, well," she muttered, grabbing the bottle of bourbon she kept hidden beneath the sink. She poured a generous splash into a glass, didn't bother with ice, and downed it in a single gulp. Then she poured another.

She started humming, a little off-key, as she surveyed the dining room, empty save for her. She ran her hand along a tablecloth, a wicked glint in her eyes. The critic had called the decor "sterile" and the service "robotic." She laughed, a short, sharp bark that echoed around the room. She was practically vibrating with some kind of energy.