Gemotions

The drive was slow. Each red light was a deliberate, agonizing pause. He felt as though the very air was pressing down on him. Sunlight, normally a source of comfort, seemed to mock him, turning the world outside into a garish spectacle. He should have worn sunglasses.

He had expected to be angry, but instead, an immense weariness had settled over him, settling in his bones like a persistent chill. He didn't want to go in. He didn't want to face Mark, to relive the humiliations, the fear. He imagined the way Mark would look, the practiced empathy, the calm facade.

He pulled up to the curb, killed the engine, and sat there, the silence in the car amplifying the turmoil within him. He was trapped.