Gemotions

Sarah clutched her coffee cup, the ceramic strangely cold against her trembling fingers. The office was unusually loud today, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, amplifying the feeling of exposure she always battled. Across the break room table, Mark was telling a story about some childhood camping trip. Her heart hitched.

"Yeah, Camp Clearwater," Mark said, grinning. "Remember that stupid talent show?"

She swallowed hard. Camp Clearwater. The words hit her like a punch to the gut. Her chest felt constricted. She hadn't thought about that place, those memories, in years. A wave of heat washed over her face, and she forced a smile. "Camp Clearwater, huh? Small world."

The smile felt brittle, fake, like a poorly constructed mask. She focused on the steam rising from her coffee, a desperate attempt to create a private, invisible bubble around herself. Her palms were sweating.