Gemotions

He paced the length of the living room, the Persian rug feeling rough and abrasive beneath his bare feet. The letter, announcing Alex's departure, lay discarded on the coffee table. Thomas ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands as if he could physically pull the frustration out of his head.

He kept replaying the phone call, Alex’s voice, breezy and excited. He could still hear the eagerness, the lack of concern for how this would affect *him*. It was like he was being discarded, tossed aside.

He needed to do something, anything. He grabbed the remote and flicked on the television, but the vibrant images flickering across the screen offered no solace. He switched channels, then turned the TV off completely. The silence was deafening.