Gemotions

The air in the art studio was thick with the scent of turpentine and the lingering anxiety that had been plaguing Leo for weeks. He kept staring at the canvas before him, a half-finished portrait, which now felt as though it was mocking him. He had found it – the book – in a forgotten drawer in their shared bedroom. It was about *her.*

He picked up a brush, dipped it in crimson paint, and swiped it across the canvas. Then another swipe. And another. Anger, a cold and unfamiliar companion, swirled inside him. His hands wouldn't stop shaking.

He needed to confront her, but the thought of that conversation filled him with a strange, jittery energy. He took another deep breath and turned away from his work. He walked to the window, feeling the cool glass against his forehead as he waited.