Gemotions

The gala was in full swing, a symphony of forced smiles and shallow compliments. Crestwood was the guest of honor. Every time she looked at him, she wanted to scream.

She watched him from across the room, his easy charm a fresh wound. Every handshake, every laugh, was a betrayal. It felt impossible to breathe.

She made her way to the bar, and ordered a double shot of whiskey. Then another. She needed to feel something other than this grinding sense of resentment. The alcohol was a welcome relief, even if it was a temporary one.