Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the office hummed, a monotonous drone that did nothing to soothe the tremor in Liam’s hands. He’d just spilled coffee on the report, a consequence of Emily's sudden outburst. “Camp Clearwater? No way!” she'd blurted. He stared at the stain, a dark blotch spreading like a disease across the crisp white paper. The memory, a locked closet for years, threatened to burst open. He swallowed hard, his throat tight. He needed to escape, to put distance between himself and this revelation. He excused himself, citing a sudden headache, and retreated to the sterile quiet of the supply closet.