Gemotions

He slammed the invitation against the wall. The thin paper fluttered down, landing near his feet. A wave of nausea, acrid and unwelcome, rose in his throat. Mark clenched his fists, knuckles white. The audacity of it, after all this time. After the way they’d treated him.

He pictured them: Chad, still probably wearing his backwards baseball cap; Sarah, still flashing that fake smile. He kicked at a stray textbook, the action a sharp, frustrated release.

"A celebration of what?" he muttered, the words thick with resentment. The air in his small apartment seemed to thicken, pressing down on him.