Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the office seemed to hum a mocking tune, a constant reminder of the day’s transgression. Mark stared at the email, the subject line a jagged wound: "Camp Clearwater - Alumni Reunion." He’d actively avoided Susan all day, the quiet guilt a heavy cloak. He’d told the boss a story about her.

He knew she was going to be furious when she finds out. He kept tapping his pen against his desk, the sound echoing in the sudden quiet of the late afternoon. He should have kept his mouth shut. The lie, so easily spun, now seemed a monstrous thing.

He saw her across the room, gathering her things. He should go over there and say something. He should confess. His stomach lurched, and he remained glued to his chair.