Gemotions

"Imagine," he said, his voice flat, "Someone just *taking*." Robert felt a flush creep up his neck. The offer of sharing the garden was not an offer, it was a demand. Each detail in the garden was planned, a defense against the world. Now, his carefully crafted sanctuary felt vulnerable.

He found himself clenching and unclenching his fists, the knuckles turning white. He wandered into his garden, the rows of vegetables, his life's work. It felt like walking through a minefield, each step a potential explosion. He felt suffocated, trapped. The sight of a slug on a tomato plant triggered a rush of anger. He picked it up with a shudder, the soft body squishing between his fingers.