Gemotions

He gripped the worn leather of his armchair, knuckles white. The essay, his essay, was there, staring back at him from the glossy pages of the alumni magazine. He’d flipped through it casually at first, a bored sort of curiosity. Now, he was rooted.

A coldness spread from his stomach, an icy tendril snaking its way to his extremities. His breath hitched in his throat. He’d bared his soul in that essay, revealed his fears, his insecurities, his hopes. He felt suddenly exposed, vulnerable.

His gaze darted around the room, as if expecting someone to be there, watching. He couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, judged. He quickly closed the magazine and set it down hard, as if physically repelling the words from his sight. He needed a drink, a very strong drink.