Gemotions

He felt a burning heat in his chest, a pressure building behind his eyes. He read the sentence again, the words mocking him from the screen: "Your assistance in training Mr. Davies is greatly appreciated." Appreciated? After being treated like a disposable cog? The nerve of it.

He ripped the email from the printer, the paper tearing raggedly in his grip. The office air seemed thick, suffocating. He needed to get out, to breathe. He threw on his jacket, not bothering to button it, and practically ran for the door.

Mr. Davies was already waiting at his desk when he returned, radiating bland enthusiasm. "So," Davies chirped, "Where do I start?" His smile seemed too wide, too… fake. He sighed.