Gemotions

He stared at the professor, his mouth dry, his throat a desert. The office was small, the air stale with the scent of old books and something else… anxiety. He shifted, the plastic chair creaking under his weight, the sound amplifying the pounding in his ears. The professor’s words, a calm recitation of the evidence, seemed to bounce off the walls, each one a hammer blow.

His palms were slick with sweat. He clenched his hands into fists, trying to find some purchase, some way to ground himself. He wanted to shout, to deny everything, but the words wouldn't come. His tongue felt thick and useless.

He saw the professor’s pen tap against the desk, a slow, rhythmic beat that mirrored the frantic rhythm of his own pulse. The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in, pressing down on him. All he wanted was to disappear, to vanish into thin air.