Gemotions

His fists were clenching, the veins on his forearms bulging as he stared at the professor. The man’s polite, even tone felt like a deliberate provocation. Daniel wanted to scream, to smash something, anything to alleviate the pressure building in his chest. His breath hitched, shallow and ragged.

"I can't believe this," he managed to choke out, his voice barely audible. The classroom, which had always felt comfortable, now seemed to shrink around him, the bright lights suddenly harsh. He felt a throbbing ache behind his eyes, a dull, relentless throb that matched the pounding of his heart.

He wanted to argue, to defend himself, but the words caught in his throat, blocked by the pure, unadulterated injustice of it all. The professor continued to drone on, oblivious to the storm raging inside him. He balled his hands into fists again, digging his nails into his palms, needing the pain to ground him, to remind him he was still present, still real. He turned and abruptly left, walking out of the room.