Gemotions

He slammed his textbook shut. The sound echoed in his small apartment, the only sound to interrupt the silence. He kicked at a stray water bottle, sending it skittering across the floor. This couldn't be happening.

He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. He paced the room, his frustration escalating. He was angry with the professor, angry with the situation, and most of all, angry with himself. Was he not good enough? He felt as though the world was closing in, that everything was a mess.

His palms were clammy. He could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, a frantic rhythm against the stillness of the room. He needed to be alone, to process this somehow, to figure out what to do.