Gemotions

The phone vibrated on the table, the notification flashing: "Party invite from Emily!" On my birthday. The blood pulsed in my temples, a slow, relentless drumbeat. My carefully crafted evening at a classical concert now felt like a pale imitation of the spectacle Emily was undoubtedly planning.

I grabbed the phone, my fingers fumbling with the screen. I wanted to smash it, to obliterate the reminder of Emily's blatant disregard.

I took a deep, ragged breath. I couldn't. I forced a smile that felt utterly foreign to my face, though I knew it was meant to be the polite response. What else was there to do?