Gemotions

He slammed the laptop shut, the metallic clang echoing in the otherwise silent room. Thomas’s throat constricted, making it hard to swallow. He felt a burning flush creep up his neck, spreading to his cheeks. His hands trembled as he pushed away from the desk, the chair skidding across the wooden floor. He needed air, needed to be away from the accusations, the proof that his hero, the acclaimed writer Adrian Blackwood, had pilfered his ideas.

He paced the confines of his small apartment, each footfall a heavy thud. The walls seemed to close in, the air thick with unspoken betrayal. He picked up his phone, then quickly put it back down. He couldn’t talk to anyone. Not yet. The words, once so easily flowing in his own work, now felt like lead weights in his mouth.