Gemotions

He stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The face staring back at him was pale, drawn. His eyes, usually bright, were clouded with a weary kind of defeat. He splashed cold water on his face, but it did little to soothe the tightness in his chest.

The accusations, the whispers, the sideways glances – they were a constant reminder of the stain on his reputation. It felt like his own work was now tainted, suspect. The injustice gnawed at him. He knew they'd always think less of him.

He slammed his fist against the counter, the sound echoing in the small room. He looked at his hand. He was tired of fighting. He was tired of it all.