Gemotions

He stared at the cereal box, the bright colors mocking his current situation. His stomach twisted. He poured the milk, his hand shaking slightly, causing a splash that spattered his jeans. Everything felt amplified, from the clatter of the spoon against the bowl to the quiet hum of the refrigerator.

His father, a shadow in the doorway, cleared his throat. "Good morning, son."

"Morning," Mark mumbled, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the milk swirling in the cereal. His chest felt constricted. He felt the need to apologize for everything, for the space he was taking up, the mess he was making. He had to remind himself that he had already paid the rent.

“You, uh, you slept well?” His father's voice was gentle, and yet somehow, it felt like an accusation. Mark shrugged, pushing the cereal around the bowl with his spoon. A drop of sweat trickled down his temple.