Gemotions

The air in the restaurant felt too thin, too loud. He was across the table, his face illuminated by the flickering candlelight. A familiar warmth used to fill me at his presence. Now, it was a dull ache. The waiter brought our food, and he barely touched his plate. Then the phone rang. He quickly answered it, excusing himself to take the call outside.

I watched him through the window. He spoke softly, his back to me. His body language was fluid. I picked up my fork, but the food was a blur. The rhythmic tapping of my foot against the floor was a steady counterpoint to the rush of blood in my ears. I felt like an animal, caged, and I needed to escape.