Gemotions

The car keys were in his hand. He gripped them so tightly, the metal bit into his palm. He was supposed to meet her at the park; they had planned a picnic. Now, he sat on the couch, staring at the closed front door. The image of her whispering into the phone, the guarded look in her eyes, flickered behind his eyelids.

He checked his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes. The hour was ticking towards their meeting, and the anxiety in his chest was becoming a physical weight. The longer he waited, the more his anger swelled.

He would not be the first to speak. He would not. He would let her carry the awkwardness. He'd wait for her to explain, to offer an apology.

He would not move.