Gemotions

He slammed the apartment door, the sound echoing in the sterile hallway. Now, back in his childhood bedroom, the silence felt even louder, pressing in on him. His throat constricted as he sank onto the bed, the mattress still bearing the familiar indent of his teenage self.

He picked at the loose threads on the comforter, each tug a tiny act of self-flagellation. He hadn’t meant to snap at his father, but the suggestion about "finding himself" had felt like a needle jab. He wanted to shout, but the words wouldn't come. He just sat, breathing shallowly, a knot tightening in his chest.

The walls of his childhood bedroom felt like they were closing in on him.