Gemotions

The vintage diner booth suddenly felt cramped, too small for the fury bubbling inside Leo. He’d driven an hour through rush hour traffic to get here, all for *this*. He pushed the half-eaten plate of pancakes away, the syrup starting to congeal, a perfect metaphor for his rapidly souring mood. Across from him, a woman with bright pink hair stared back, her own eyes blazing with a matching fire. "He told me he was going to the gym," she said, voice tight.

"Right," Leo replied, the word a clipped syllable that barely escaped his clenched jaw. The diner's cheerful jukebox music now grated on his ears. He'd poured his heart out to this man, confided his fears, opened himself up, and for what? To be another entry on a spreadsheet of conquests.

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that came out more like a violent rake. The waitress, a bored teenager, came over. "More coffee?" she asked, oblivious. Leo shook his head, then mumbled, “Just the check.” He wanted to scream. He wanted to break something. But instead, he just sat there, simmering.