Gemotions

The air in the apartment felt thick, almost suffocating. Mark tapped his foot against the hardwood floor, a rapid, staccato beat. He glanced at the clock again. Nine o’clock. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture almost violent. He’d spent weeks organizing this, juggling schedules, keeping secrets. He had told his friend that he needed to get to the party no later than nine, and now there was no one. The silence was deafening, amplified by the brightly lit room and the perfectly decorated cake.