Gemotions

"Impossible," Mark muttered, the word a raw rasp in his throat. He stared at the side-by-side comparison of his story and Finch's novel on the screen. The evidence was irrefutable. His cheeks burned. He could feel a warmth spreading in his groin, a strange, disconcerting reaction to the discovery. He felt a need to flex his fingers.

He slammed his laptop shut, the sound echoing in his small apartment. The force of the action made him jump. The room felt suddenly small, suffocating. He paced back and forth, unable to settle. Every nerve in his body seemed to be singing with a frenetic energy. He needed to *do* something.

He reached for a bottle of water, but his hand trembled, and he spilled it. The coolness of the liquid on his skin provided no relief. He felt a powerful, almost violent urge to break something, to tear the room apart. His heart pounded in his chest, a heavy, relentless drumbeat.