Gemotions

She found herself replaying their last interaction over and over. "Good luck," she'd chirped at him during his farewell, her smile tight. He'd mumbled a thank you, feeling the heat crawl up her neck. He'd never meant for things to end up this way. He should have known better than to gossip about her promotion, should have kept his mouth shut. Now, in the cramped storage room of the shipping department, where he’d been relocated, the dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight, each one a tiny, accusing finger. He scrubbed at a grease stain on a box, the rough cardboard chafing against his skin, a small penance.