Gemotions

The silence in the elevator was deafening. He stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Jessica, a competitor, and the metallic hum of the machine felt like a direct assault on his senses. He couldn't meet her gaze, fearing what he might see. He gripped the strap of his briefcase so tightly his knuckles turned white.

His normally meticulous appearance had begun to slide. His tie was perpetually askew, his shirt wrinkled. He caught himself staring at the floor, a habit he'd adopted, as if he could unearth a sign in the patterns of the tiles.

He found himself snapping at his wife. The smallest domestic disagreements escalated into heated arguments. He'd retreat to the spare room, the space cold and empty, a reflection of his own inner state.