Gemotions

The small apartment was his, until it wasn't. Now, he was back here. Back in the house. His room still smelled of his childhood. Everything felt wrong. He walked into the kitchen to find his mother making his favourite cookies. The aroma, normally a comfort, now felt like a cruel joke.

"You look tired, dear," she said, her voice filled with concern. He hated the pity in her eyes. It was a constant reminder of how far he'd fallen.

He grabbed a cookie, the sweetness doing nothing to soothe the tightness in his chest. He felt a deep undercurrent of rage, a constant simmering dissatisfaction with the world. He wanted to scream.