Gemotions

The date was circled in red on her calendar, a menacing beacon. The speech. She could taste the metallic tang of fear. Her breath hitched, her throat constricted. She practiced saying her mother's name, just to prepare.

She imagined the setting, the ballroom, the polite applause. She dreaded the spotlight, the scrutiny, the feeling of vulnerability. Her carefully constructed facade, chipped and broken, laid bare.

She pulled the covers over her head, wishing she could simply disappear. The party, the speech, the whole situation – she wanted none of it. It would be a train wreck. She knew it. The only question was: how bad?