Gemotions

The coffee shop was always noisy, but today the chatter felt targeted, a chorus of whispers that had her name woven through the sentences. It was just a small, delicate design, a floral sprig. But he had seen it, or rather, variations of it, on the arms of various people.

She kept checking the reflections in the windows, the gleam of the chrome coffee machine. She’d even turned her own cell phone off, afraid of a targeted message, a photograph of the person who now had her work permanently attached to their skin.

Her heart hammered against her ribs as she imagined them, that person, watching her from somewhere. She stood up quickly, nearly knocking over her cup. She had to leave.