Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the office hummed, a shrill counterpoint to Amelia's internal tremor. Her hands, usually steady, now fumbled with the stapler, mangling a corner of the presentation deck. She hadn't slept well, the thought of the upcoming pitch a dull ache in her chest.

Then, there he was, David from accounting, holding a near-identical stack of papers. A wave of nausea rolled over her. His smile, usually innocuous, seemed smug, knowing.

"Ready to go, Amelia?" he asked, his voice a little too bright. She could feel the blood drain from her face.

Amelia managed a tight nod, her throat suddenly constricted. She wanted to scream, to cry, to run. Instead, she just turned away, shoulders hunched, and walked towards the conference room, the weight of the duplicate project pressing down on her like a physical burden.