Gemotions

The sight of the invitation, propped up against the sugar bowl, was enough to make his blood boil. John felt a familiar tension grip his shoulders, turning them into solid blocks of granite. He shoved the chair back from the table with a screech, the noise grating on his nerves.

He paced the length of his small apartment, muttering under his breath. He hated this. He hated everything about this. The thought of seeing those people again, of feigning interest in their lives, filled him with a bitter taste.

He slammed his fist against the wall, then immediately regretted it, shaking his hand, the pain a welcome distraction.