Gemotions

"Did you find any job prospects today, honey?" His mother’s saccharine sweetness felt like a physical blow. The question, asked every single day, was a constant, stinging reminder of his failure. James didn't answer, instead pushing his food around his plate.

His fork scraped against the ceramic, a sharp, repetitive noise. He felt a tremor in his leg, a nervous twitch that wouldn't stop. He wanted to throw the plate, to shatter it, to shatter the suffocating normalcy.

He stood abruptly, knocking his chair over. "I'm not hungry," he muttered, his voice raspy. He needed to be alone, to deal with the pressure that was squeezing the air from his lungs. He walked, or rather, stormed to his room.