Gemotions

He’d paced the length of his tiny apartment for an hour, the worn floorboards groaning under his frustrated steps. The memory of Sarah’s smug face, the way she'd casually dismissed his painstaking efforts, the sheer audacity of her retelling, was a pressure in his chest, a knot that tightened with every passing second. He felt a fire in his belly, a need to lash out, to make her *understand*.

He slammed his fist against the wall, leaving a dent in the plaster. “Lies,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “All lies.”

The air felt thick, charged. He ripped his phone from the charger, his fingers clumsy with the sudden, sharp anger. He typed her number, deleted it, then started again. He had to make her see. He had to. He’d rehearsed the words a hundred times.