Gemotions

The gallery's pristine white walls seemed to pulse with an accusing light. Sarah’s breath hitched. There, in the center of the room, was *it*. Her painting. The one she’d locked away, the one she’d ripped to shreds in a moment of self-doubt. Now, it hung framed, lit dramatically, with a pretentious title card underneath. She felt a coldness creep up her spine, prickling the hairs on her neck.

Her hands instinctively flew up to her mouth, stifling a gasp. She stumbled backward, bumping into a well-dressed woman. "Oh, excuse me!" Sarah stammered, then fled the scene, the woman’s bewildered look searing into her memory. The blood rushed to her ears, a deafening roar.

She darted out of the gallery, into the sudden downpour of the afternoon. The rain felt like needles against her skin, each drop amplifying the tremors in her legs. She couldn't shake the feeling of exposure, of being seen naked in a crowded room.