Gemotions

He dropped the letter, the paper falling face down onto the cluttered desk. James ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair, the action a frantic attempt to find some semblance of calm. The tremor in his fingers was unmistakable. The years had softened the edges of the memory, but the core, the feeling of betrayal, remained sharp. He leaned heavily against the chair, the wood groaning in protest. He found himself squeezing his eyes shut, trying to block out the sudden, unwanted images. The tightness in his chest intensified, making each inhale a conscious effort.