Gemotions

The sound of the invitation tearing echoed through the quiet house. Michael had ripped it in half, then again, and again, until it was just confetti on the counter. He took a deep, shuddering breath, his chest heaving.

He glared at the scattered pieces, then ran his fingers through his hair. He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to scrub the kitchen floor. He started on his hands and knees, scrubbing at the linoleum, a grim determination etched on his face.

He had a vision of the evening, everyone smiling at him, pretending they remembered his name. The thought of it made him want to scream.