Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the accounting department seemed to hum a mocking tune as Beatrice gathered her things. Her face burned, a slow creep of heat rising from her neck to her cheeks. She meticulously placed her stapler, a relic from her first day, into her tote bag, her fingers clumsy and unsure. The knowing glances from her former colleagues felt like tiny, stinging needles against her skin.

She cleared her throat, attempting a casual farewell, but the words caught in her throat. “See you around, I guess,” she managed, her voice barely a whisper. Their polite nods and the forced cheeriness of their farewells only amplified the awful, churning sensation in her stomach.