Gemotions

She could barely eat. Food felt like a chore, a tasteless obligation. Her stomach churned constantly. The thought of facing her colleagues, especially Mark, her rival, filled her with dread. Every seemingly innocuous question, every casual comment felt like a calculated jab.

Her boss's office had become a siren song. Any time he called her, she'd approach with trepidation. The walls seemed to close in on her, and each sentence became a critical evaluation.

She started smoking again, the nicotine a temporary balm on the raw nerves. The taste of smoke lingered on her clothes, a subtle stench of self-destruction. She found herself sitting outside the office building in the evenings, watching the other employees leave, each one a potential winner.