Gemotions

The chipped ceramic mug felt cold against her clammy palms as she sat at the kitchen table. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, a scene of domesticity that felt alien. She picked at the label of the instant coffee jar, her eyes darting between her parents as they chatted amicably. Their casual ease, their quiet assurance, made her want to flee.

Her mother offered her a plate of toast. “You haven’t touched your breakfast, honey.”

"Just not hungry," she mumbled, the words sticking in her throat. The pressure in her chest intensified. She wished she could disappear.