Gemotions

The smell of his mother’s pot roast, once a source of deep comfort, now felt like a heavy blanket, trapping him in a world he wanted to escape. He stood by the kitchen window, watching the rain streak down the glass, blurring the world outside. The back of his neck prickled.

He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. The constant hum of the refrigerator, the distant rumble of traffic, the rhythmic thump of his dog’s tail against the floor—each sound amplified and irritating.

"David, come eat," his mom said. Her face had that look, the one that meant she knew something was up. He forced a smile. "Just a sec, Mom." He didn't want to go in there. He didn't want to eat. He wanted to be anywhere else.