Gemotions

He paced the cramped studio apartment, his bare feet slapping against the worn wooden floorboards. The air hung thick and heavy, like a humid summer day. He’d read the first few lines, then the blood had drained from his face, leaving him feeling utterly hollow. His diary, full of angsty poems and unrequited crushes, was out there for the world to scrutinize.

He ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair. He felt a throbbing ache in his chest, and his heart hammered against his ribs. He felt sick, truly ill. He felt a deep need to *do* something, anything to stop the avalanche of embarrassment and shame.

He stopped pacing, staring at the chipped paint on the wall. A silent, helpless rage began to simmer.