Gemotions

He stared at the phone bill, the numbers a black tapestry of deceit. It was a tangible object, proof of the web of lies she had constructed. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging, the action a manifestation of the building pressure within his chest.

The kitchen, usually a place of comfort, now felt like a prison. The scent of dinner, which she had been preparing before he came home, suddenly filled him with revulsion. He wanted to scream, to accuse, but the words caught in his throat, a suffocating silence.