Gemotions

A wave of nausea washed over Amelia. Her stomach churned, a physical reminder of the accusations that had hung in the air during the last team meeting. It was all a misunderstanding, she kept trying to tell herself, but the doubt, like a persistent weed, kept pushing through. She watched her coworker, Ben, pace the small space, muttering under his breath.

She leaned against the cold metal wall, taking a deep, shuddering breath. The air felt thick, stale. Her fingers fumbled with the clasp of her purse, then stopped. She couldn't bring herself to reach for the antacids. Every muscle in her body felt stiff, as if held in a perpetual state of readiness.

Ben stopped pacing and gave her a sideways glance. “You okay?” he asked, his voice softer than usual. She forced a smile, a brittle, fragile thing. “Yeah,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. She hoped the tremor in her voice wasn't obvious.