Gemotions

Michael slammed the door behind him, the sound echoing through his empty apartment. He slumped against it, his body heavy, his spirit deflated. His parents had been so secretive, so distant, and now it made sense: there was someone else.

He ran a hand across his forehead, trying to clear his thoughts. The apartment felt suffocating, and the silence was deafening. He considered going out, but the thought of seeing people, of pretending to be okay, was unbearable. He turned away from the door and walked to the kitchen, where he poured himself a glass of whiskey.

The amber liquid did little to ease the tension in his muscles. He stared at the ceiling, replaying the conversation in his head, each word a fresh wound.