Gemotions

The professor’s tone was condescending, his words laced with a subtle hint of judgment. Mark felt the blood drain from his face. He sat rigid in his chair, his hands clenched into fists in his lap. He could feel the pulse in his temples, a frantic rhythm. He wanted to deny it, to shout that it was a mistake, a misunderstanding, but the words wouldn't come.

He looked around the room, at the other students, their faces a blur. He felt a sudden, irrational urge to lash out at them, to blame them for this perceived injustice. He stood up abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. He needed to get away, to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the classroom.