Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of the art gallery, mirroring the tempest inside Leo. He’d arrived expecting a sophisticated evening of appreciating modern sculptures; instead, he was facing Sarah, who had, apparently, been spending her weekends at the same cabin in the woods *he* had.

Leo ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that felt less like grooming and more like trying to physically scrape away the deceit. Sarah was babbling about a particularly lovely hike they'd shared, using the word “we” liberally. A bitter laugh almost escaped Leo's lips. He swallowed it down, forcing himself to stay composed.

He felt a burning sensation in his cheeks. He stared at the vibrant canvas before him, but the colours blurred and warped. He wanted to shout, to slam his fist on the nearest pedestal, but he merely inclined his head. "Fascinating," he finally said, his voice a low growl. "How peculiar that we're both privy to the same, apparently very imaginative, weekends."