Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash in her mouth. She clutched the mug, her knuckles white, watching the elevator doors open and close, expecting to hear the news. The tension was making her shoulders ache. She felt a need to hear the phone ring, to have someone tell her everything was okay.

She avoided looking at Mark, pretending to focus on her paperwork. He always seemed so effortlessly capable. She could practically taste the bitterness in the air. The thought of having to work under him was horrifying.

Her fingers danced over the keyboard, but she couldn't focus. Her mind kept replaying every interaction with the boss, every task completed, every perceived slight, every sign of favor. It was all a test. A judgment. She needed to please.