Gemotions

The remote control slipped from Mark's sweaty palms and clattered against the coffee table. He immediately recoiled, the sound amplifying the tightness in his chest. His father's disapproving sigh from the recliner in the corner was a familiar sound, a constant reminder of his perceived failures.

He gripped the cushions, his knuckles turning white. He felt a scorching heat creeping up his neck and his face. He hated this life. He hated the constraints, the questions, the constant judgment that felt like a weight crushing him.

He got up abruptly, nearly knocking over the lamp. He stormed out of the room, hearing his father's muted grumble behind him. He needed to be alone, needed to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the house.