Gemotions

He leaned against the wall, observing the scene with a detached, critical eye. The room was gaudy, the laughter forced, the sentimentality cloying. He felt a bitter taste on his tongue.

He watched his father, radiating pride, surrounded by well-wishers, and felt a surge of something dark and cold. He wanted to ruin the day.

He folded his arms across his chest, the gesture defiant. The room seemed to close in around him, the noise amplifying his inner turmoil.

He walked to the front of the room, his movements slow and deliberate. His speech was a series of carefully chosen phrases, each one designed to inflict a subtle wound. He enjoyed the discomfort.