Gemotions

The familiar weight of the baseball bat felt alien in Leo's grip. He swung it, again and again, the sound echoing in the batting cage. *Crack!* *Crack!* *Crack!* The ball's impact didn't feel satisfying; instead it amplified a hollowness inside him. The coach had pulled him aside after practice. "We need to talk," he’d said. The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken consequences.

Leo changed his stance, adjusted his grip, swung again, but the rhythm was off. He wasn't connecting. His thoughts careened, replaying every perceived flaw, every error he'd made. He thought about his grandpa, who had always believed in him. Leo felt that he was letting him down.

He walked over to the water cooler, grabbed the bottle and gulped it down. The cold liquid did not refresh him. He slammed the bottle down on a nearby bench. He needed something to do, something to control. He walked towards the pitching machine, flicked it on, and prepared to face the next pitch.