Gemotions

He’d sworn he wouldn’t unpack the boxes until he’d secured a job. But, here he was, staring at his childhood bedroom, now plastered with photos of his younger sister’s wedding. The floral wallpaper screamed "childhood." His father, a creature of habit, poked his head in, "Need help with those boxes, son?"

"No, Dad, I got it," Michael snapped, his voice barely concealing the edge he felt. He’d told him a hundred times. He did not need help. Not yet. Not at all.

His hands were tight fists at his sides. He knew he'd need to go into the basement and retrieve the old tool kit if he was to take down the wedding photos. The thought alone was enough to make him feel the familiar throb of a headache behind his eyes.