Gemotions

Liam stared at the stack of papers, his stomach churning. He'd thought he was over this. Over his childhood anxieties. Yet, here they were: every book report, every math test, every pathetic attempt at creative writing. His mother, the woman who always understood, had hoarded it all.

He picked up a test marked with a red "C," the shame burning his ears. He was a successful architect now, building skyscrapers, not struggling with fractions. He felt a familiar prickling behind his eyes. He hated feeling like this, easily wounded.

He slumped onto the dusty floor, the scent of mothballs and aging paper filling his nostrils. The room swam slightly. He felt like a failure again, a clumsy kid fumbling through life. He buried his face in his hands, wishing he could disappear.