Gemotions

He slammed the stapler onto his desk, the metallic clang echoing in the otherwise quiet cubicle farm. The new guy flinched, his eyes widening. Good. He'd been looking for a reaction. This was the same desk he had occupied for the better part of the last decade. It was the location of his entire professional life.

He hadn’t been consulted about the hiring. Didn't matter. They never consulted him about anything. He pointed a finger at the computer, the action sharp and deliberate. "Right. Here's how you do the expense reports," he growled.

His stomach churned with a persistent unease. His fingers drummed a rapid tattoo on the desk. He hadn’t slept well, and the lack of rest made him feel more exposed. He didn't want this guy to get it. He didn't want him there. He didn't want to leave. The air felt thick, heavy, unbreathable.

"Got it?" The new hire nodded. He wanted to wipe that stupid grin off his face.