Gemotions

He hadn't slept at all. The dark circles under his eyes spoke volumes. Michael pushed himself away from the kitchen table, the half-eaten breakfast forgotten. The phone, a sleek black rectangle, lay discarded on the counter. The phone calls, the late nights, the averted glances. Each detail replayed, reemerged, and the reality of the situation sunk deeper. A wave of heat washed over him, followed by a sudden chill. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture frantic and desperate. He turned and walked to the door, needing to be anywhere but there.