Gemotions

The coffee cup trembled in Daniel’s hand. He spilled a little, the dark liquid staining the pristine white desk. He barely registered it. His gaze darted around the room, taking in every detail – the cluttered bookshelf, the worn rug, the way the sunlight hit the dust motes dancing in the air.

He'd rehearsed his story a dozen times in his head, but each version sounded more incriminating than the last. He fiddled with the strap of his backpack, a nervous tic. He felt the weight of his actions in his stomach, a dull, persistent ache.

The clock on the wall seemed to be ticking faster, each second an accusation. He imagined the professor's expression, the look of disappointment he knew was coming. He could feel the blood draining from his face.