Gemotions

From the moment she'd spotted Mark, the festive atmosphere had soured. He was across the reception hall, chatting with a group of people, looking… fine. Too fine. She took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. She'd spent months rebuilding her life, and now, here he was, ready to unravel it all. She felt a prickling sensation beneath her skin, a constant itch she couldn’t scratch.

She made a point of avoiding him, but it was impossible. The room was a sea of bodies, and fate, it seemed, had a cruel sense of humor. He approached her as she was talking to the bride's grandmother, smiling. She greeted the grandmother with a forced smile, and then tried to turn her attention to the food table. It felt like walking through molasses. She could feel his gaze on her, and the back of her neck burned.

The conversation with the grandmother felt like an eternity. Finally, she excused herself, her voice barely a whisper. She needed to get away, to breathe.