Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash in Maya's mouth. She hadn't slept well, and the insistent rhythm of the new guy's tapping pen on the table was driving her insane. Each tap felt like a tiny hammer blow against her skull. She wanted to scream, to shatter something. The air in the office was thick, heavy, suffocating.

She tried to explain the complexities of the budget spreadsheets again, but her words felt disjointed, a jumbled mess. Her head was a swarm of bees. She watched, detached, as her replacement scribbled notes.

“Got it,” he said brightly, oblivious to the volcano about to erupt inside her. Maya gripped the edge of her chair until her nails dug into the wood. The room felt like it was closing in.