Gemotions

He took a long, slow sip of his iced tea, deliberately avoiding her gaze. The clinking of the ice against the glass seemed to amplify the silence. He could feel his pulse quickening, a low hum of irritation in his chest.

Her words felt like a violation. A garden. Right here. He pictured the mud, the noise, the *effort* he'd have to put in dealing with it all.

"Sure, go ahead," he said, finally, his voice flat. He felt a profound sense of dismissal, as if he were granting a boon to a bothersome child. He turned his attention to a distant bird, signaling an end to the conversation.