Gemotions

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I snapped, when my coworker, David, approached my desk. His face fell, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. The news had hit me like a physical blow. A sale? To *them*? The blood drained from my face, leaving a cold hollowness in my gut.

I slammed the lid of my laptop shut, the sound echoing in the silent office. My fingers itched, a familiar sensation when things felt out of control. My hands clenched into fists. I wanted to scream, to lash out, to break something. But I was trapped, stuck in this beige box, waiting for the inevitable. The thought made my skin crawl.

The fluorescent lights seemed to dim, casting long, distorted shadows. I grabbed my keys, the metal cold against my palm. I was getting out of here.