Gemotions

The flickering neon sign of the all-night diner cast a sickly yellow glow on Amelia's face. Another late night, another empty stomach. She scraped at a cold plate of fries, the grease doing little to soothe the knot in her stomach. Lately, she felt like she was wading through molasses, each day the same slog. Mark, her supposed friend, had always been so bright, so full of energy. Now she discovered his job was not the high-powered analyst position he constantly bragged about but rather a low-level data entry clerk at a dead-end company. She felt a strange pressure in her chest, like being submerged in water with a weight bearing down on her.

"So, the big shot analyst is really just… this?" she said, her voice flat.

Mark just shrugged, avoiding her gaze. "It's… complicated," he mumbled. The lie, and the sudden shift in his demeanor, felt like a slap in the face.