Gemotions

"Gorgeous, isn't it?" The critic's words were a low growl, echoing in the space. He forced a smile, a mask against the rising tide of fear. He felt his face flush. He didn’t know how the gallery had acquired his work.

Each compliment felt like a knife twisting. The critic studied the paintings with narrowed eyes. He imagined the man knowing what he had done, what was hidden, and judging him for it.

His palms were wet, his throat dry. He stumbled over his own feet, knocking over a display stand. The sound, the mess... his own clumsiness seemed to amplify the exposure, to make him more vulnerable.