Gemotions

He cleared his throat, the sound a small explosion in the otherwise silent cubicle farm. He'd been trying to focus on the spreadsheet, but the words “Camp Clearwater” kept echoing in his mind. Across the aisle, Emily’s voice, normally a soothing background noise, now felt sharp, grating.

He felt a prickling heat on the back of his neck. The casual conversation about the camp’s archery range felt… loaded. He rubbed his palms against his jeans, feeling for the familiar texture of the fabric. The smell of the coffee in his mug seemed suddenly acrid.

Her laughter, when she mentioned a particularly memorable prank, felt like a deliberate jab. He leaned back in his chair, trying to appear nonchalant, but his heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird.