Gemotions

“Damn it all to hell,” Robert said, his voice a low growl. He was in the middle of a meeting, but the words slipped out before he could stop them. His knuckles were white against the polished conference table. His assistant, clearly flustered, looked away. The author’s blatant theft felt like a personal attack. He wanted to shout, to smash something, to make the world *understand*. He excused himself abruptly, needing air, needing anything to escape the suffocating feeling in his chest.