Gemotions

He paced his apartment, the thin rug doing little to soften his steps. John’s phone lay discarded on the kitchen counter, its screen cracked from his earlier frustrated toss. The air in the room felt thick, oppressive.

He'd spent months diligently following the doctor's prescribed regimen, only to discover the results belonged to someone else. The cold fury he felt burned like acid in his stomach. He kicked a nearby ottoman, sending it skidding across the floor.

“This can’t be happening,” he muttered, his voice a low growl. The injustice of it all pressed down on him, a heavy weight threatening to crush him. He needed to get out, needed to breathe.