Gemotions

The speeches had started, and each one seemed to lengthen the shadow of dread that had been following Mark around for weeks. He gripped his glass so tightly his knuckles were white. His father's career, he knew, was a source of pride, and now Mark was supposed to reflect that. His mind, however, was a blank canvas.

The air grew heavy. His throat felt dry, and he took a gulp of his drink, barely tasting it. He found himself avoiding eye contact, afraid he would give himself away. He was suddenly aware of his pounding heart, a relentless rhythm against his ribs.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to run.