Gemotions

He’d always known it was a joke. He’d seen the subtle glances, the hushed whispers whenever he walked past. They were all talking about *him*. That lightweight, Thomas. He sauntered around the office like he owned the place, while he, David, the workhorse, the one who actually *delivered*, was stuck toiling away.

David, sitting in his unkempt office, felt his palms grow clammy. He gripped the edge of the desk, the cheap laminate cold beneath his fingers. He had poured years into this company. He could practically recite the annual reports by heart! Yet Thomas, with his charm and effortless networking, was the favorite.

He heard the telltale click-clack of Thomas's expensive shoes approaching. The man, in a freshly pressed suit, beamed at him. "Hey David! Heard you're taking on the new project." The forced cheer of his voice was jarring. David simply nodded, the muscles in his face tight, feeling the acidic burn of resentment rising inside him.