Gemotions

“Oh, you’re the artist!” The gallerist’s voice cut through the air like a knife. The color drained from Olivia’s face. She didn’t know what to say. Her paintings, which she thought were safely locked away in her studio, were now framed on the walls, and the room was filled with people. Her privacy had been invaded.

Her breath hitched. She felt her face flush, the blood roaring in her ears. Her legs felt weak. She was suddenly lightheaded. She was going to faint. The room started to spin.

She grabbed the closest chair. She sat down, her hands shaking, her eyes darting around the room, trying to find a point of stability. She felt exposed. Every glance, every comment felt like a direct assault. She wanted it all to stop.