Gemotions

The scent of jasmine filled the car, a perfume she associated with the past. It was an unwelcome intrusion. She gripped the steering wheel so tight, her knuckles were white. The flowers sat in the passenger seat, a smug, perfumed reminder of everything she couldn't control.

The light turned red. She slammed on the brakes, the car screeching to a halt. The flowers slid off the seat, scattering across the floor. She ignored them.

Her foot pressed hard on the accelerator when the light turned green, the tires spitting gravel. She drove, and drove, until she finally pulled over to the side of the road and threw the flowers out the window.