Gemotions

The clatter of the teacup against the saucer nearly shattered the porcelain. Aunt Carol’s placid smile, usually so comforting, now seemed to mock him. He clenched his jaw, the muscles in his neck protesting. "So, you're saying... you're *leaving* us?" he managed to choke out, his voice tight.

He stared out the window, at the familiar oak tree that had been in his family for generations. He wanted to go outside and take it out on the tree, maybe see if it can handle the rage simmering under his skin. He didn't understand. She'd been raised the same as him, the same church, the same traditions. Now, this?

He grabbed his coat and slammed the door behind him. The air outside was cold, but it didn't do anything to quell the storm raging within him. He just wanted to scream.