Gemotions

The support group meeting was a farce. The forced smiles, the platitudes, the forced camaraderie – it made his stomach churn. He sat in the back, arms crossed, listening to the saccharine stories of shared suffering. He felt no kinship. Only a desperate need to escape.

A woman with a prominent scar on her cheek approached him after the meeting. She had a hesitant, almost apologetic air. "I noticed you didn't speak," she said, her voice soft.

He turned away, the words catching in his throat. He despised her attempts at kindness, her obvious pity.

“Just leave me alone,” he managed to whisper.