Gemotions

The doorbell rang. Again. Ben dropped the remote onto the sofa with a thump. He knew who it was: his mother, bearing a casserole. "Coming!" he yelled, the word already feeling strangled in his throat. He’d only been back a week, and the parade of well-meaning neighbors and relatives, all eager to offer sympathy and advice, was relentless.

He opened the door and braced himself, pasting on a smile. "Hi, Mom. What's that?" He really just wanted to be left alone to nurse his wounds and lick his wounds in peace, but the constant attention was suffocating. The air felt thick, the walls of the house closing in. It felt impossible to breathe sometimes.