Gemotions

The shared bathroom was a battleground. Ever since Mark found his journal slightly askew on the shelf, he felt a simmering fury toward his roommate, Ben. The casual way Ben used the shared space, the whistling in the shower, the loud music, felt deliberately provocative now.

He watched Ben this morning, as Ben casually tossed his toothbrush into the sink. The simple act felt like a personal affront. Mark fought the impulse to grab the brush and hurl it across the room.

His own toothbrush, he noticed, had a tiny crack in the handle. A rage filled him. He hated the way Ben never cleaned up after himself, the way he left wet towels on the floor. He wanted to go in there, scream, throw a fit. Instead he just looked away.