Gemotions

The email sat in the inbox, mocking her with its blunt subject line: “Regarding Michael’s Employment.” He, her best friend, the intrepid travel writer, the globe-trotting adventurer, had never actually left the country. He worked in a supermarket, stocking shelves. A deep, unpleasant ache settled behind her eyes.

She stared out the window, at the grey sky mirroring her mood. How had she been so easily fooled? She always prided herself on her sharp observation skills, her ability to see through deception. Now, the knowledge felt like a brand, a permanent mark of her naiveté.

Her shoulders slumped. She’d always been a bit…plain. Always felt the need to apologize for not having more stories, of not living a 'big' life like Michael's. The world seemed to shrink around her. Even breathing felt difficult, as if she were somehow suffocating inside her own skin.