Gemotions

The silence in the office was deafening. Michael found himself tapping his pen against the desk, a steady, staccato beat that echoed in the quiet. He kept adjusting his tie, pulling it slightly away from his neck.

He avoided eye contact with anyone. He hadn't slept well the night before, his dreams a jumbled mess of competing voices and demanding expectations. He felt an intense need to be busy. He found himself rearranging his desk, even straightening the already straight edges of his monitor.

Every noise seemed amplified: the click of a mouse, the muffled ring of a phone, the distant hum of the air conditioning. Each sound scraped against his nerves. He felt a bead of sweat trickle down his temple.