Gemotions

The locker room felt oppressively small, the metallic tang of sweat and fear filling his nostrils. He avoided eye contact, shuffling the papers on his desk, pretending to be absorbed in some meaningless task. The silence was almost unbearable. He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears, a frantic drumbeat against his ribs.

He noticed the chipped paint on the lockers, the scuff marks on the floor, everything seemed to be highlighted with the acute way he was feeling. He dreaded this moment with every fiber of his being.

He watched him approach. His jaw was clenched, his steps uncertain. "Ben, can you sit down for a moment?" The words felt wrong, clumsy, inadequate. He hated the way his voice wavered.