Gemotions

"Leo, dear, are you alright?" His mother’s voice, a gentle coo, filled the cramped kitchen. He hadn’t spoken much since the funeral. The world felt muffled, distant. He just wanted to be alone in the apartment he had just lost.

He shrugged, unable to meet her gaze. The aroma of his mother’s cooking, once a comfort, now felt like a cruel joke. He picked at the mashed potatoes on his plate, pushing them around with his fork. His stomach churned with a strange mix of nausea and emptiness.

He felt the prickle of tears behind his eyes. He hated this, this feeling of constant fragility. He needed to be strong, for his mother’s sake. He swallowed hard. "Fine," he croaked, the word sounding foreign even to his own ears.