Gemotions

He stared at the email, the words blurring before his eyes. "Potential academic dishonesty." The words practically vibrated on the screen. His fingers trembled as he reread the professor's carefully worded accusations. He wanted to scream, to smash his laptop against the wall. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands, a physical manifestation of his inner turmoil.

He felt a hot flush creep up his neck. It was always the same story: his brilliance, his unique perspective, always questioned. They never understood the effort he put in. The hours he toiled. They'd rather believe he'd copied, that he wasn’t actually capable of original thought.

He wanted to argue, to defend himself, but the words caught in his throat. He’d learned long ago that explaining just made it worse. He closed the laptop, the screen reflecting his own frustrated face. It’s not fair, his mind spat.