Gemotions

"Did you remember to take out the trash, honey?" The question, delivered with forced cheerfulness, was a spark. David's eyes narrowed. He clenched his fists, the muscles in his forearms bunching. He felt the blood pounding in his ears.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm the sudden tremor in his hands. He hated the way his mother hovered, the way she treated him like a child. He wanted to shout, to tell her to back off, but the words were stuck in his throat.

He forced a smile, the action feeling alien and brittle. "Yeah, Mom, I did," he said, his voice tight. He turned and practically fled from the kitchen, the need for escape consuming him. He had to get away from her watchful gaze.