Gemotions

A wave of nausea crashed over Mark as he looked at the text message: "Party off. Something came up. So sorry." He crumpled the phone, his knuckles white against the screen. The carefully planned decorations, the rented karaoke machine, the hours spent agonizing over the guest list – all for nothing.

He slammed his fist on the kitchen table, the sudden noise echoing in the otherwise silent apartment. His chest felt constricted, as if an unseen hand was squeezing the air from his lungs. He paced the length of the room, each step frantic, his mind racing. Where had he gone wrong? What had he done?

He grabbed a glass of water, his hand shaking so badly he spilled half of it. The cool liquid did nothing to quench the fire raging within him. He ripped off his party shirt, the fabric tearing as if he was trying to tear the whole situation apart. He wanted to scream, to break something, to obliterate the disappointment that threatened to consume him.