Gemotions

A cold sweat slicked down Leo’s back as he stood across from the building. He watched his painting, a personal exploration of grief, displayed in the prominent window. The sheer brazenness of it made his stomach churn. His fingers traced the jagged edges of a scar on his hand.

He recalled the frantic phone call from his agent, the excited tones, the promise of exposure. He hadn’t agreed to this. The feeling of being exposed, naked to the world, was a painful slap. His usual bravado, the carefully constructed shell, had vanished, leaving him with a raw, throbbing core.

He turned away abruptly, needing to escape the gaze of the painting and the phantom stares of imagined onlookers. He wanted to hide, to shrink, to become invisible. The city noise seemed deafening, a relentless assault on his senses.