Gemotions

The sterile white of the hospital room seemed to amplify the clatter of the machine monitoring his vitals. Arthur hated hospitals. He hated needles. He hated weakness. And, most of all, he hated the implications of this new information. His parents, the pair who had raised him, now seemed like mere actors in a play, their love a script he had blindly followed.

He turned his head away from the concerned gaze of the nurse. Every touch, every word now felt suspect. The soft glow of the monitor's screen reflected in his eyes, a cold, hard light. He gripped the bedsheets, knuckles white, the rough fabric digging into his palms. He couldn't trust anyone.