Gemotions

He stared at the speech he’d drafted, the words blurring before his eyes. Thomas crumpled the paper, the sound sharp in the otherwise quiet room. His pulse hammered in his ears. The party was in an hour, and he was supposed to be the shining star of the evening. His father’s retirement was a huge deal, a testament to a life well-lived.

He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, the gesture more frantic than considered. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. He felt claustrophobic, trapped in his own skin. He had to be strong, had to be witty, had to be… something he wasn’t feeling.

He picked up the phone, and his finger hovered over the dial button. Maybe, just maybe, he could feign illness.