Gemotions

The irony was exquisite, a poison she savored. She could barely sit still. He looked at her calmly, awaiting her response. But she had nothing to give him.

“I find it amusing,” she said finally, her voice low, controlled. It was all she could manage.

His eyebrows rose slightly. He had, at least, the decency to look slightly surprised. Her carefully crafted composure, the years of suppressed feelings, were starting to crumble. The room suddenly seemed too small, the air too thin, and she found herself wanting only to escape the suffocating pretense.