Gemotions

He stared at the professor’s door, the polished wood reflecting his own haunted face. His legs felt like lead weights, unwilling to propel him forward. He clutched the crumpled paper in his hand, the evidence. He had to face this.

His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat. He swallowed, trying to force down the lump in his throat that made it hard to speak. The hallway felt too long, the air too thin. Each echoing footstep felt like a condemnation.

"Mr. Davies?" a voice called. He flinched, as if a sharp noise had startled him. The door opened.