Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the breakroom seemed to pulse, matching the frantic rhythm hammering in Mark's chest. He stared at Sarah, his new coworker, across the chipped table. She was talking about her childhood, some idyllic summer spent frolicking in the woods. His hands were clammy. "Wait… Camp Willow Creek?" He choked out the words, the air suddenly thick and hard to breathe.

Her eyes widened. "Oh my god, you went there too? When?" The innocent question, the bright smile – it all threatened to unravel him. He felt a tremor begin in his legs, a buzzing that spread to his fingertips.

“'98. You?” He managed, voice a strained rasp. He could feel the blood draining from his face, leaving a cold, prickly sensation on his skin. He needed to be away from this. Away from her.

He pushed his chair back with a violent scrape against the linoleum. "I… I have to go." He practically bolted from the room, leaving her confused face behind, desperate to escape the memory that clawed at his throat.