Gemotions

"You're *kidding* me," he said, his voice a low growl. His mother, her face etched with a mixture of shame and relief, flinched. The words hung in the air, heavy and poisonous. He wanted to shout, to rail, to dismantle everything she'd told him.

He pushed away from the kitchen table, the sudden movement sending his chair scraping across the floor. He needed space, desperately. His throat was constricted. He felt the familiar weight of his own anger, a familiar, unwelcome companion.

He turned and bolted, not caring where he was going, just needing to be gone. The slam of the front door echoed through the quiet house, a punctuation mark on the unraveling of his life. The world was now a blur of colors.