Gemotions

The slam of the front door echoed through the apartment, rattling the picture frames on the wall. Michael's jaw was clenched so tightly he felt a muscle spasm in his cheek. He ripped off his tie and flung it onto the sofa, the silk slithering uselessly to the floor. "Absolutely not," he muttered, the words tight and strangled in his throat. He stalked towards the kitchen, each footfall a thunderclap against the hardwood.

He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and chugged it down, the cool liquid doing nothing to soothe the heat prickling under his skin. He slammed the empty bottle back onto the counter, the sound sharp and aggressive. The idea of a dog – *her* dog – running wild, shedding, barking… it was absurd. Utterly, utterly absurd.

He paced the living room, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He could feel his pulse hammering against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence. This was insane. He would not, *could* not, share his meticulously ordered space with a slobbering, demanding beast.