Gemotions

The gallery's stark white walls seemed to press in on Elias. His stomach churned as he surveyed the scene: his canvases, stolen from his apartment, now adorned with flattering descriptions and inflated price tags. He hadn't even finished the damn things. He felt a throbbing ache behind his eyes, a sensation that wouldn't abate.

He hunched his shoulders, feeling exposed under the gallery lights. A couple were cooing over a piece he'd painted during a particularly bleak winter. He wanted to scream, to rip the canvas down, but his throat felt thick and unyielding. The knot in his chest was a tight, painful fist.

He ducked behind a pillar, hoping to fade into the background. Every compliment, every admiring glance, was a fresh jab. He needed to be invisible, but the world was a spotlight.