Gemotions

The air conditioning in the office felt inadequate, failing to combat the growing sense of unease that permeated Mark's very being. He ran a hand over his face, the stubble scratching against his skin. He found himself avoiding his colleagues' eyes, fearing that the barely concealed rage bubbling within him would somehow manifest itself externally.

He stared at his computer screen, the words of the email he’d drafted blurring into nonsense. He felt a throbbing pulse behind his eyes, a relentless beat that mirrored the internal turmoil. The casual conversation he’d overheard, the innocent declaration of a higher salary, felt like a deliberate insult. He felt like he'd been backstabbed.

He stood abruptly, pushing his chair away so it scraped against the floor. He needed to get away, to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the office. He felt like he was locked in a box.