Gemotions

The coffee mug vibrated against the counter as Sarah slammed it down. The numbers swam before her eyes, an inescapable tide of unfairness. Twenty-three dollars an hour. That was what *he* was getting, fresh out of college, while she, with five years of experience, scraped by on seventeen. She paced her cramped office, the chipped paint on the walls suddenly mocking her.

Her breath hitched, a series of shallow gasps that threatened to turn into sobs. She gripped her chest, trying to force oxygen into her lungs. Why? Why him? What did he have that she didn't? Was it that stupid haircut? The smug grin?

“I need to speak to someone, now,” she mumbled, her voice cracking. She fumbled with her phone, her fingers clumsy and unresponsive. She needed to understand, to fix this, to make the world make sense again.