Gemotions

The gallery owner's voice was a high-pitched drone, almost vibrating in the sterile white space. "Absolutely stunning, Eleanor. Truly. Though, I did think..." He trailed off, gesturing vaguely towards a group of people. Eleanor followed his gaze and her stomach lurched. There, amidst the chattering crowd, was a man with her most recent piece inked onto his forearm. A direct, perfect copy. She felt a sudden, intense heat bloom in her chest, a pressure building behind her eyes. Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging into her palms.

She excused herself from the conversation, stumbling towards the restrooms. The cold tile against her cheek offered little comfort. Her breath hitched. The blood pounded in her ears. She splashed cold water on her face, but the image remained, seared into her mind like a brand. Someone had taken a piece of her, made it permanent. This wasn't praise; it felt like a violation.

She needed air, to get away, to disappear. Finding her coat, she fled the gallery without a word, the sound of her own shoes echoing in the sudden silence.