Gemotions

"Dinner's ready," his mother called, her voice gentle. He ignored her, scrolling through his phone. He could feel the familiar tightening in his chest, the rebellious urge to stay hidden away.

He knew what dinner would be: his favourite, lasagna. He knew she did this to make him feel at home. He didn’t want to feel at home.

Hours later, the untouched lasagna sat in the fridge, a silent testament to his absence. He paced the floor of his old bedroom, the silence broken only by the ticking of the clock.