Gemotions

"Mom, can we talk about this later?" His voice was clipped, short. The words were a meager attempt at keeping his composure. He felt a throbbing pulse behind his eyes. His older sister, Sarah, had declared her newfound faith – a particularly devout form of Catholicism – moments before dinner.

The room seemed smaller now, the walls closing in. He shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling the rough denim against his skin. He wanted to say something cutting, something to wound her, to puncture her blissful bubble, but he forced the words back. The air in his lungs felt constrained.

He couldn't even meet her eye. He just needed to leave. He stood up abruptly, knocking his chair over. "I'm not hungry," he said, his voice strained. He turned and walked out, his legs carrying him away.