Gemotions

The venue buzzed with chatter and laughter, a noise that grated on Clara’s nerves. She’d chosen a strategically placed table, near the buffet, but far enough from the dance floor. She didn't want to be *seen*. She busied herself arranging her napkin, ensuring her silverware was perfectly aligned. It was a pointless exercise, a way to occupy her restless hands.

A tap on her shoulder made her jump. It was Mark, her ex. He smiled, a practiced gesture that did nothing to soothe the tension coiling in her gut. "Fancy seeing you here," he said, his voice smooth and unsettlingly familiar. Clara managed a weak smile, "Yeah, Sarah and I go way back." The conversation felt like navigating a minefield, each word a potential trigger. She found herself watching his every move, anticipating the next blow.