Gemotions

He slammed the car door with unnecessary force, the metallic clang echoing in the quiet suburban street. He knew his parents could hear him. Inside, he could feel a familiar tremor of displeasure bubbling up from the pit of his stomach.

"Everything alright, dear?" his mother’s voice called from the open window. He kept walking, ignoring her. He knew what she wanted. He wanted to go in and sit down like he had when he was a kid. He wanted to take her up on her offer for a cup of tea.

He spent the evening holed up in his room, the curtains drawn tight. The smell of his father’s pipe tobacco, which seemed to permeate the house, grated on his nerves. He turned up the music on his headphones as loud as he could bear.