Gemotions

The clinking of ice in her glass was the only sound louder than the pounding in Jessica’s head. She’d been invited to a barbeque at the new neighbors’ house, the wealthy Smiths. She hadn't wanted to go, but she couldn't come up with a good enough excuse. Now, surrounded by their casual affluence, she felt a creeping sense of unease.

She forced a smile, but it felt brittle, like thin ice. Their conversation felt rehearsed, their generosity a carefully constructed performance. Every word, every gesture, was dissected by her mind, searched for hidden meaning. The carefully curated perfection of their life, their house, and their smiles, felt artificial.

Her palms were clammy. She needed to leave.