Gemotions

He stared at the blank page, a white canvas reflecting his inner turmoil. The muse had abandoned him, replaced by a bitter, churning anger. James’s fingers flew across the keyboard, typing a paragraph. Then another. Then he deleted them all.

The accusations, the whispers, the evidence - it all swirled in his head. Thorne, the man he'd admired for years, had pilfered his work. A full week had passed since he sent the email. He just needed to know if it was true.

His leg bounced erratically under the table. He felt like he was trapped, unable to move forward, and the slow process was becoming unbearable.