Gemotions

The afternoon sun, slanting through the blinds, cast long, distorted shadows across his desk, mimicking the distorted landscape of his thoughts. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture rough, almost violent. He’d barely slept in days.

“Did you, uh… ever go to Camp Greenlake?” asked Jessica, hesitantly, breaking the afternoon stillness.

He slowly turned, his gaze distant, his expression unreadable. His shoulders were hunched, his hands in fists. He felt a deep, instinctive aversion, a visceral reaction to the question.

He took a slow breath, then, after a prolonged pause, a single word: "Yes."

His eyes drifted back to his work. The world around him seemed to shrink, closing in on him.