Gemotions

John stared at the embossed logo, his eyes darting around the sterile office. His palms were slick, the paper crinkling in his grip. Twenty years. Twenty years since acne, awkward dances, and the crushing weight of unmet expectations. He let out a choked sound, a strangled gasp that sounded foreign even to his own ears.

He crumpled the invitation into a tight ball, then quickly smoothed it out, smoothing out the imperfections he could see in the invitation and the creases in the paper. The office clock ticked with a maddening slowness, each second an accusation. He glanced at the framed picture of his family, suddenly feeling like a fraud. He slammed his fist on the desk.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, his voice a low growl. The thought of facing those people, those memories, those judgments, was almost unbearable. He needed to escape, to run.