Gemotions

He’d known, of course. The whispers, the rumors, the hushed conversations on campus had been building for months. He had hoped for some miracle, some intervention. The email was cold, stark, and final. He remained motionless, almost paralyzed, as he stared at the words.

His room was a disaster zone of discarded clothes and empty takeout containers. The air hung thick with the smell of stale pizza and unwashed laundry. The thought of cleaning it up, of any task at all, felt monumental.

He flicked off the computer and buried himself under the covers. The world could sort itself out. He would deal with it when he could no longer put it off.