Gemotions

He slammed the apartment door, the flimsy wood rattling in its frame. The air inside felt thick, oppressive, like a physical weight. "A goldfish," Mark muttered under his breath. "A freaking goldfish."

He kicked off his shoes, the action sharper and more forceful than necessary. His jaw was clenched, his teeth grinding. The image of the proposed tank, bubbling and illuminated, filled him with a quiet, yet undeniable, fury.

He stalked over to the window, pulling the curtains closed with a snap. The sudden darkness was a small comfort. He pictured Emily, already making plans, her voice a shrill, excited hum that he now found grating.