Gemotions

The pizza box sat unopened on the coffee table. Ethan hadn’t even bothered to take out a plate. He sat in the dim light of the living room, the curtains drawn, the silence punctuated only by the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. He’d told Clara he was "busy," a lie that twisted in his gut. The truth was, he couldn't face her. He couldn't face anyone.

He picked at a loose thread on the worn sofa cushion. The frayed edges mirrored the way he felt inside. He felt as though a large part of his chest had been hollowed out. He was alone with his thoughts.