Gemotions

Her stomach flipped. She stood frozen, staring at the barista behind the counter. He was making her coffee, the usual, and as he reached for the sugar packets, she saw it. 'Phoenix Rising,' the painting that had taken her months to finish, now permanently emblazoned on his forearm.

Her breath hitched. She felt her face flush, heat creeping up her neck. It wasn't just the blatant imitation; it was the casual way he displayed it, the nonchalant ease with which he went about his day. It felt like a deliberate act of contempt.

She took a step back, her hand flying to her mouth. She barely registered the barista calling out her name. The coffee, usually a comfort, now felt like a bitter draught. She turned and fled, leaving her order unpaid, leaving the world behind and retreating into the suffocating confines of her car.