Gemotions

"It's… it's beautiful," a woman was saying, her voice a saccharine drone. The comment did nothing to soothe Amelia's rising panic. She felt exposed, vulnerable, as if the gallery walls had turned transparent, revealing her deepest secrets to the world. She’d painted the series as a catharsis. Now, the gallery's unauthorized exhibition felt like a violation.

Amelia's chest felt constricted, making it difficult to draw a full breath. She retreated towards a shadowed corner, away from the prying eyes and the clinking glasses. She wished she could rewind time, to erase the paintings from existence. She kept replaying the moment she learned of the showing. The phone call. The curt, dismissive tone. The sinking feeling in her stomach.

She felt a potent urge to be sick.