Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the breakroom seemed to hum louder than usual. Sarah stared at Mark, coffee cup halfway to her lips, and felt a sudden, inexplicable tightness in her chest. He was saying something about archery, about the summer he’d spent at Camp Clearwater. A place she hadn’t thought about in years, a place she’d tried to bury deep.

Her hand trembled, spilling a few drops of lukewarm coffee onto the counter. "Clearwater?" she finally croaked, her voice barely a whisper. The room felt suddenly too small, too close.

Mark, oblivious, continued to drone on about the lake, about the cabin counselors. She could feel a flush creeping up her neck. This couldn't be happening. Not here. Not now.