Gemotions

The invitation sat on his desk, crumpled and stained with coffee. He’d almost thrown it away. The thought of it, of the forced conviviality, made his stomach churn. He’d promised, though. He’d promised to be there.

The ride was a blur of highway and passing cars. He kept his window rolled down, the wind whipping through his hair, trying to blow away the tension that clung to him.

He stood near the bar, watching the crowd. He nursed his drink, the amber liquid doing little to ease the feeling of unease that had settled over him. He watched his father laughing with his colleagues and felt a coldness spread through him.