Gemotions

He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, the action a familiar, comforting ritual. The weight of the envelope in his hand felt immense, a physical manifestation of the hopes and dreams contained within. He hated the way the skin on his face seemed to tighten. He hated feeling the way his jaw felt clenched.

He’d driven around the block three times already, each circuit a desperate attempt to delay the inevitable. The words of the rejection letter would be a blow, of that he was sure. He pulled into the parking space outside his apartment building, the engine sputtering to a stop. He stared at the envelope, its crisp, white surface taunting him.

"Just rip the thing," he muttered, trying to project a confidence he didn't possess. He took a shaky breath, finally opening the car door.