Gemotions

"He just... left," she said to the bartender, her voice tight, a tremor in its sound. The words felt foreign on her tongue, an insult. She swirled the ice in her whiskey, watching the amber liquid slosh against the glass. The man had mentored her, guided her and helped her to navigate the complex world of art. He was the only person who understood her. Now, he was gone, vanished without a single parting word.

The bar was noisy, filled with the clatter of glasses and the boisterous laughter of strangers. It was a suffocating cacophony. She felt trapped, a caged animal. Every face seemed to mock her, their indifference a tangible thing.

She took a long swallow of her whiskey, the alcohol burning a path down her throat. She gripped the glass so tightly her knuckles were white. The impulse to shatter it against the counter was almost irresistible. He had abandoned her, left her to fight alone.