Gemotions

The coffee cup rattled in Amelia's grip. Her knuckles were white as she stared at the email. *Congratulations! Your article, "The Symbiotic Cityscape," has been published in Urban Design Quarterly.* Below, in bold, was the name: *By Marcus Bellweather.* Amelia's breath hitched. She scrolled down, her stomach twisting. Her own words, her own research, attributed to someone else. She felt a prickle of heat crawl up her neck.

She reread the email, her pulse drumming a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She slammed her laptop shut, the abrupt sound echoing in her otherwise silent apartment. The injustice of it all slammed into her with the force of a physical blow. She paced the length of her living room, her hands clenching and unclenching.

Her phone buzzed, a notification from a friend asking if she'd seen the article. Amelia ignored it, her fingers tracing the outline of her jaw, a tic she hadn't realized she had. She wanted to scream, to shatter something. Anything to release the pressure building inside.