Gemotions

He took a deep breath, trying to steady his trembling hands. The smell of his father’s pipe tobacco, thick and cloying, hung in the air, a constant reminder of the life he'd abandoned. "Son, are you sure about this?" his father asked, his voice a steady rumble. Mark clenched his jaw. He’d heard that question a dozen times already. He nodded curtly, fiddling with the car keys in his pocket. The worn leather felt like sandpaper against his skin. He needed to get out, even if only to the corner store. The walls of this house were closing in.