Gemotions

David hated the sound of his own footsteps echoing on the polished hardwood floor. His father, a man of few words, had just grunted when he'd shown up at the door, bags in hand. "Figured you'd be back," he'd said, without any inflection.

David nodded, unable to meet his father's gaze. He felt a constant thrumming in his temples, a pressure that wouldn't relent. The apartment had been a disaster, a constant struggle. Now, he was here, a failure, under his father's roof.

He stood in the hallway, clutching his duffel bag. The house, usually comforting, was now a tomb. The silence felt judgmental, the air thick with unspoken expectations.