Gemotions

The drive home felt interminable. He gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. The radio was blaring, a jarring counterpoint to the turmoil inside. Every red light was an eternity. The world seemed to be closing in around him.

He replayed the conversation over and over in his mind. The way she had looked, the way her shoulders had slumped. He couldn't shake it. He had a knot in his stomach. He felt a wave of nausea, and he fought it down.

The house felt empty. He couldn't face his own dinner. He found himself pacing. He needed to do something, anything, to distract himself. He switched on the TV, but the images blurred. He turned it off again.