Gemotions

He slammed the car door a little too hard, the sound a jarring punctuation mark on the end of a very bad week. David had just lost his job and his apartment in the same day. He couldn't believe this was happening. He took a deep, ragged breath and straightened his tie, a purely automatic gesture. His father opened the door before he could even reach it. "David! Welcome home, son."

He forced a weak smile. The scent of Sunday roast wafted from the kitchen, a smell that usually brought comfort, but today, it felt cloying. His throat closed up. "Hey, Dad." He tried to sound normal, but his voice cracked at the end. His father's gaze, usually warm, seemed to dissect him.

Later, huddled in his old bedroom, he stared at his reflection in the dusty mirror. His face was a mask of strain. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands until it hurt. He wanted to scream. He wanted to break something. He closed his eyes, willing himself to calm down, but all he felt was this rising tide of something.