Gemotions

Sweat beaded on Liam's forehead as he navigated the crowded dance floor. He clutched his lukewarm beer, the plastic cup slick against his clammy hand. He’d known this wedding was a bad idea, had felt the familiar dread clawing at his insides since the invitation arrived. Now, her laughter, a sound he'd once found intoxicating, cut through the music like a shard of glass. He ducked behind a pillar, pretending to admire the floral arrangement, his heart hammering against his ribs.

His gaze flickered to the corner of the room. There she was, talking animatedly with a group of friends, radiant in a dress that shimmered under the disco ball. He felt a wave of nausea, a dizzying emptiness in his stomach. He wished, desperately, that he hadn't come. He should have feigned a sickness or a prior engagement. Anything.

The bride, bless her heart, spotted him and waved, beckoning him over. He plastered on a smile, a grimace really, and forced his feet to move towards the table where the rest of their shared circle was seated. He felt his face heat up, a burning flush that crept down his neck. He felt exposed, vulnerable. This was going to be a long night.