Gemotions

He stared at the coach, a knot forming in his throat. The coach’s calm demeanor, his rehearsed speech – it was all a carefully constructed façade, a performance designed to soften the blow. He wanted to scream, to tear the room apart. Instead, he forced a tight smile.

His hands were clenched so tightly, his nails were digging into his palms. He didn’t want to look weak, to give them the satisfaction of seeing him break. The room blurred slightly, the colours around him shifting unnaturally. He had put in the work. He'd followed all the rules.

He nodded, a jerky movement of his head, barely acknowledging the coach's attempt at a pat on the back. Then, he turned and walked out, his steps deliberately heavy, his shoulders squared. He resisted the urge to look back, to see if they were watching.