Gemotions

He slammed his fist on the counter, the cheap wood vibrating. The smell of stale coffee and regret clung to the walls of the pawn shop. "That’s my grandmother’s ring," Thomas ground out, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. His gaze locked on the ring, a diamond winking mockingly from its velvet bed.

The pawnbroker, a portly man with a comb-over struggling to maintain its composure, raised an eyebrow. “Everything’s for sale, son.”

Thomas felt a tremor run through him, starting in his gut and radiating outwards. He wanted to shatter something, anything. He imagined snatching the ring, running out, disappearing. The memory of his grandmother's face, the stories she used to tell while she wore that very ring on her finger, flashed through his mind.

“Where did you get this?” he demanded, his voice a low growl. He was burning up.