Gemotions

He pulled his baseball cap lower, trying to disappear into the bustling coffee shop. The book was there, right on the counter. The cover's vibrant colors mocked him. He wanted to turn and run.

He knew he shouldn't have come. He should have stayed at home, hidden away. The familiar scent of coffee suddenly felt acrid, overwhelming. He could feel the eyes of the other patrons, even though he knew they were just going about their day.

He took a seat by the window, but the glass offered no solace, only a reflection of his own panicked face. He gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles bone-white. He felt the blood draining from his face, leaving him cold.

He imagined someone would walk up to him and start discussing the essay, or worse, making a sarcastic comment. He could feel the sweat beading on his forehead.