Gemotions

The silence in the dorm room was unbearable, broken only by the rhythmic ticking of the cheap plastic clock on the wall. Michael sat at his desk, staring blankly at the pages of his journal. He felt a cold dread creeping into him, as cold as the November air seeping through the cracked window pane. He'd found the journal on the floor, near his roommate, Tom’s, bed.

He hadn’t said anything. He couldn’t. He just picked it up and sat down, his heart racing. He traced the cover of the journal with his finger, the texture a meaningless distraction. His mouth was dry, his stomach churned. He wanted to shout, to rage, to release the torrent of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

He pushed back from his desk, the chair scraping against the floor. He needed to move, to do something. He paced the small room, his steps heavy. He felt a deep sense of vulnerability, an exposed nerve. He didn't want to be in the room with Tom, but neither did he want to leave the room.