Gemotions

He paced the length of his bedroom, the worn carpet offering no comfort under his bare feet. Each step was heavy, each breath a struggle. Thomas had to keep moving, keep busy. The article, the goddamn article, was a virus. He pictured the words, the embarrassing confessions, spreading through the digital ether. He wanted to scream.

He clenched his fists, knuckles white. The air felt thin, like he was trapped in a glass box, and the walls were closing in. He should call someone, tell someone. He couldn't.