Gemotions

"This is just…great," Ben said, his voice flat. He kicked a stray box, sending papers scattering across the floor. This felt like an exercise in humiliation. Why did his mother do this?

He grabbed a crumpled note, a message he’d written to a girl in class. He remembered the butterflies, the awkward attempts at romance. He wanted to burn it.

He sat back on his heels, a slow burn starting in his chest. His fingers itched to tear something, anything. He knew, however, that he couldn't. He picked up the scattered papers, each movement slow and deliberate.