Gemotions

“Are you sure?” Mark asked, his voice cracking slightly. He was staring at the printout, his gaze fixed on the salary figure. He had just asked his coworker, Susan, what she made. "Yup, that's what's going into my bank account every month," she'd said. Her tone was casual, almost dismissive. She made more than him.

Mark felt his face flush. He had always been so careful, so dedicated. His hands were clammy. He felt a need to argue, to deny it, but the reality was staring him in the face, in black and white.

He could feel the blood rushing to his ears. He turned and quietly walked back to his cubicle.