Gemotions

"Well, isn't this cozy?" Claire thought, her words barely a whisper as she found herself seated directly opposite Mark during the wedding dinner. Every forced smile, every polite nod of acknowledgement, felt like a deliberate act of violence against her own composure. Her breath hitched.

The perfectly arranged table settings, the delicate floral centerpieces, all seemed to mock her. The silverware felt heavy in her hand.

She stabbed viciously at a piece of chicken. Her gaze burned into the back of his head. The conversation around her faded to a dull roar. The only sound she heard was the pounding of her heart in her ears. Claire wanted to scream. Instead, she plastered on a dazzling, yet utterly false smile and raised her glass to the bride.