Gemotions

The elegant script on the invitation - *Silver Creek High School, Class of '12 - 12 Year Reunion* - felt like a punch in the gut. He dropped it on the kitchen counter, the sound sharp and echoing. He stared at the counter, the grain of the wood a dizzying pattern. Twelve years. He felt his pulse quicken.

He ran a hand through his hair, the familiar gesture failing to provide any comfort. The apartment, usually a comforting space, felt cold and wrong. He felt a pull down the hallway toward the front door.

He needed air, he needed space. He needed to be anywhere but here.