Gemotions

He slumped onto the park bench, the newspaper crumpled in his hand. “By Eleanor Vance.” His work, his research, his painstakingly crafted words, now belonging to someone else. He felt a hollowness in his chest, a deep ache. He had always been so careful, so compliant. He had always tried so hard to please.

He imagined the editor's reaction to a complaint. He visualized their disappointment. He was afraid of being seen as troublesome. He was afraid of being perceived as difficult. The thought of losing his already tenuous connection to the writing world was paralyzing.

He ran his hand through his hair. He needed them, needed their approval. His stomach churned. He folded the newspaper carefully, then tucked it away in his bag. He’d deal with it later. Maybe.