Gemotions

He picked at the tablecloth, his fingers restless, unable to find a comfortable position. The room felt too bright, the music too loud, the chatter too incessant. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so vulnerable.

He watched his father, accepting congratulations with a broad smile, and a wave of something akin to bitterness washed over him. He hated the performance, the elaborate charade. He wanted to scream, to shatter the carefully constructed facade.

He excused himself from the table, his stomach churning with unease. He walked outside, into the cool air, and took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm raging inside. He felt trapped, cornered.