Gemotions

"This can't be happening," I whispered, the words catching in my throat. I crumpled the email in my hand, the crisp paper now a twisted ball of uselessness. Dr. Ramirez, the one person who understood my research, the one who believed in me, was decamping to the University of Chicago. Anger, a hot, prickly sensation, spread through me, making my muscles tense. I shoved my chair back from the desk with a screech, the sound grating on my ears. The meticulously organized bookshelf across the room seemed to mock me with its order. I wanted to turn over the desk, to scatter everything.