Gemotions

The flickering departures board was a personal insult. Amelia stared at it, fists clenched, the cold glass of the terminal pressing against her forehead. Her cousin's wedding. The only reason she’d agreed to this godforsaken trip, the only thing that had gotten her through the endless presentations and client calls. Now, that was all for naught. She could feel the tight coil in her stomach, twisting with each new delay announcement. Each tap of her foot against the tiled floor vibrated through her, a frantic drumming against the rising tide of frustration.

She wanted to scream, to rip something, to lash out at the cheerfully oblivious families and the preening business travelers. Instead, she took a deep breath, the stale air catching in her throat, and stalked towards the nearest coffee shop. The barista, with their irritatingly pleasant smile, became the immediate target. “Black coffee. Strong. And make it snappy,” she barked, the words sharp as broken glass.