Gemotions

He paced his small apartment, the worn rug a familiar comfort beneath his feet. He picked up the phone, then slammed it back down. The online article about "Chef Antoine's Amazing Apple Tart" taunted him from his laptop screen. It was *his* recipe, the one he'd meticulously crafted, the one he’d shared with a friend who'd promised to keep it a secret.

His stomach felt knotted. The sensation made him wince, a tight, unpleasant squeeze. He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it further. Every fiber of his being was screaming at him, a frantic, insistent clamor.

He imagined the smug smile on his friend's face. He knew he should confront him, but the thought of the ensuing drama held him back. The inaction chafed at him.