Gemotions

The party was supposed to be a celebration. A "bon voyage," they'd called it. But for Mark, it was a slow-motion disaster. The music pulsed, the laughter echoed, but he felt detached, like an observer watching someone else's life unfold.

He kept refilling his glass, the alcohol a poor attempt at dampening the rising tide of unease. He avoided eye contact, shying away from conversations that inevitably led to the subject he couldn't bear to acknowledge. The jovial atmosphere became increasingly suffocating.

He excused himself from the group and slipped outside into the cool night air. The relief was immediate, but fleeting. The knot in his stomach remained, and he could do nothing to untangle it.