Gemotions

The clinking of glasses and the incessant chatter were like a physical assault. He felt a constant, itching sensation behind his eyes. He scanned the room, each smiling face a reminder of the life he had been expected to lead. He felt trapped. He felt suffocated.

His father, the guest of honor, was approaching, a hand extended. He forced himself to meet his father's gaze, but the smile felt unnatural, brittle. The room seemed to shrink.

He took a step towards the stage, his movements stiff and awkward. The microphone stood before him like a judge. He felt a cold sweat break out across his forehead. His breath hitched in his chest.

“Dad,” he began, his voice tight, barely audible. He felt his knuckles turning white as he gripped the podium. He wanted to disappear. He wanted to bolt. His carefully constructed facade was starting to crack.