Gemotions

The invitation sat on the kitchen table, a mocking symbol of his perceived failure. Michael stared at it, picking at a loose thread on the tablecloth. He felt a familiar prickle of anxiety at the back of his neck.

He considered not going. It would be easier. He imagined the judging glances, the pitying smiles. He closed his eyes, the image of his ex-girlfriend, Sarah, flashing behind his eyelids.

"I can't," he mumbled, his voice raspy. He reached for a glass of water, his hand shaking slightly. The glass slipped, and the water spilled across the table, mirroring the mess inside him.