Gemotions

He found himself pacing his apartment, the worn rug a familiar comfort beneath his feet. Thomas had been looking forward to this evening, a quiet dinner, just the two of them. Now, everything felt brittle. The walls seemed to close in, each tick of the clock amplifying his unease. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he hadn't realized he'd developed.

The doorbell rang. He steeled himself, opening the door to a woman with kind eyes and a welcoming smile. She was holding a bottle of wine. "Ready for our evening?" she asked.

His carefully constructed facade crumbled. Standing behind her, a shadow in the dim hallway, was another woman, the exact same shade of blonde as his dinner guest. He felt his face flush, the blood pounding in his ears.

He couldn’t speak. The air felt thin, hard to breathe. He took a step backward, the gesture unintentional, a desperate attempt to find some space.