Gemotions

“Just leave it there, sweetie.” Aunt Carol's voice was gentle, and yet somehow, it was still a jab. Mark nodded, his feet dragging as he moved. The new job at his uncle's workshop hadn't been an easy start. The only feeling he could recognize was the lack of feeling.

He picked at the loose threads on his jeans, something he did when he was stuck. The kitchen smelled of pot roast, a smell that had once been a source of comfort, now just made him feel more disconnected from himself.

He slumped into a chair, his body heavy and unresponsive. The conversations swirling around him felt distant, as though he were observing them from behind a thick pane of glass. He closed his eyes, the image of his old apartment, his own space, haunting him. He wanted to scream.