Gemotions

A cold sweat slicked down Daniel's back. He reread the paragraph detailing his childhood, the words blurring before his eyes. It was accurate, devastatingly so, but devoid of the context, the nuance, the *feel* of it. The journalist had framed everything as if it was a dramatic play. Daniel gripped the phone tighter, knuckles white.

He felt a pressure building behind his eyes, a dull ache throbbing in his temples. He just wanted it all to stop. He wanted to scream.

He pushed his chair back from the kitchen table with a scrape. The noise made him jump. A plate of half-eaten pasta sat, cold and abandoned. He couldn't eat. He’d lost his appetite days ago. He paced the room, feeling trapped within the four walls. He felt like his skin was too tight, he needed to peel himself out of it. He needed air, urgently.