Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the office seemed to hum a mocking tune, a constant reminder of the information that had just been dropped on him. Michael stared at the spreadsheet on his screen, the numbers blurring, the figures representing the junior developer’s salary. It was significantly higher than his own, after seven years with the company.

He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture clumsy and automatic. He hadn't slept well last night. He felt a deep, twisting ache in his gut, a knot of unease. He should have asked for more.

He finally stood up, the chair scraping against the carpet like a fingernail on a chalkboard. He needed to get out, away from the data, away from the echoing silence of his disappointment. He walked to the break room to grab a coffee, the bitterness of the drink a poor match for the sour taste in his mouth.