Gemotions

The small, cramped room felt like a prison cell. He sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress sagging beneath him. The scent of mothballs and lavender hit him, a stark reminder of his childhood. He kept catching himself jumping at the slightest sound. His parents’ casual questions were now an interrogation, each one chipping away at his already fragile composure.

"Dinner's ready, dear!" his mother called from downstairs. He pushed himself to his feet, a task that required far more mental effort than physical. Each step down the staircase felt like descending into a labyrinth.