Gemotions

The champagne flute wobbled in Amelia’s hand, threatening to spill its bubbly contents onto the pristine white tablecloth. She hadn't expected him to be here. Not really. But there he was, leaning against a pillar in the ballroom, talking animatedly with a group of people she vaguely recognized. Her breath hitched. She took a large gulp of champagne, the bubbles tickling her nose, a futile attempt to calm the sudden, insistent thrumming in her chest.

Her vision blurred slightly, and she blinked, trying to focus on the intricate floral arrangements that adorned each table. They seemed to dance before her eyes. She needed to move, to go somewhere, anywhere, where she wouldn't have to see him, where the air wouldn’t suddenly feel so thick, so difficult to breathe.

She made a hasty excuse to the aunt she’d been chatting with, murmuring something about needing to find the restroom. The lie tasted like ash in her mouth. As she navigated through the milling crowd, she felt a prickling sensation on the back of her neck, the undeniable feeling of being watched.