Gemotions

The phone vibrated on the polished mahogany desk, its insistent buzz a tiny, irritating echo in the otherwise quiet office. He snatched it up, knuckles white, and saw the message notification. He'd been drafting a scathing email to his boss about the abysmal quarterly projections, the words still simmering in his mind. He’d meant to forward it to his colleague, Mark, for a second opinion. Instead, he’d just sent the email – and the attached spreadsheet – to his mother. He crumpled the paper in his hand, the crinkling sound a brief moment of satisfaction before the heat flared in his chest.

His jaw clenched. He imagined her reading it, picturing the hurt expression that would surely etch itself across her face. He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, leaving it standing on end. He should delete it. He should call. He should... He slammed the phone down, the sound echoing in the stale air. A wave of nausea rolled through him. He needed air. Now.