Gemotions

He paced his small apartment, the worn carpet a familiar comfort beneath his feet. He’d read the email again, and again, and again, searching for an explanation, any hint of understanding. There was none. Only accusations.

The small, cluttered space felt like a cage. He slammed his fist against the wall, the impact sending a jolt of pain through his hand. He was losing control.

He ran his hand through his hair, a gesture that brought no relief. The clock on the wall seemed to mock him, each tick a reminder of the time slipping away, the future uncertain.