Gemotions

The injustice of it all tightened his chest. He saw the spine of his journal, slightly askew, on the desk. He hadn’t left it there. His roommate, Ben, was sprawled on his bed, engrossed in his phone. The air in the room felt stagnant, oppressive.

He marched across the room, his footsteps heavy. “Ben,” he said, the name a harsh rasp. Ben looked up, his expression shifting from casual to guarded.

He pointed at the journal. "Did you touch this?" he demanded, his voice low and controlled. Ben mumbled a denial, but he did not meet his eyes. The lie hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. He turned away, needing to escape the suffocating presence.

He felt the sudden urge to run, to scream, to destroy something. His hands clenched into fists, the nails digging into his palms. He grabbed his keys and slammed the door behind him.