Gemotions

The email arrived, simple and to the point: “Heading to the new exhibit at the art gallery. Wanna meet up?” From “MysticMuse.” A cascade of ice water seemed to rush through Clara's veins. She’d talked about the exhibit with her online friend, gushing over the artist's work. Her jaw clenched.

She re-read the email, then deleted it. She paced her apartment, her steps quick and agitated. The gallery was only a few blocks away. She bit her lip, then began to scrub at her hands, as if trying to remove something.

She couldn’t do this. Meeting in person? It was a disaster waiting to happen. But the curiosity, the desire to know, tugged at her. She felt pinned, stuck between two impossibly dangerous choices.