Gemotions

The tiny bedroom felt even smaller than he remembered. Empty beer cans and dirty clothes littered the floor. James sighed, kicking a stray sock under the bed. He hated the way his childhood room was treated as a museum of his former life.

His dad knocked, then entered without waiting for a response. “Need anything, son?” he asked, a concerned frown creasing his forehead.

James waved him off, a curt gesture. “I'm fine.” He hated the pity in his father's eyes, the unspoken question that hung in the air: “What went wrong?”

He watched his father retreat, closing the door softly. James grabbed his phone, scrolling through social media, seeing photos of his friends’ lives. They all seemed to have a grasp on adulthood that he didn't. The walls of the room felt like they were closing in.