Gemotions

The constant drumming of her fingers against the desk surface echoed in the otherwise silent room. She needed to *move*, to *do* something, to channel the internal storm that had taken root. She felt like a tightly wound spring, on the verge of snapping.

She stalked around the cramped space, unable to settle. A sudden pang of unease struck her as she saw the familiar, though unwelcome, sight of her journal open, on her roommate’s desk. Her stomach twisted into a knot, so deep it took her breath away. The air felt thin, hard to breathe.

She slowly walked over to her roommate’s desk.