Gemotions

The elevator ascended slowly, each floor a ticking clock counting down to a confrontation. Michael replayed the conversation in his head. The HR representative, her voice calm and measured, had confirmed the figures. The disparity was real.

His palms were slick with sweat. He gripped the handrail, his knuckles white. The elevator doors opened. He stepped out, his legs feeling unsteady. He walked down the hallway, each step heavier than the last.

The thought of facing his boss, of articulating his dissatisfaction, was deeply unsettling. He felt a wave of dizziness, the office around him beginning to spin. He needed air. He needed to be alone.