Gemotions

The hallway felt miles long to Daniel. He stared at his feet as he dragged his suitcase. His mother's perfume, always a reliable smell of home, felt like an accusation. His father watched him from the doorway, a look of muted concern on his face. Daniel hated the pity.

He unpacked in his old room. The posters he'd plastered on the walls as a teenager seemed to leer at him. The bed felt too small, the air thick with the ghosts of his childhood. He had made a mess of things, and now he was back here, a living reminder of his own shortcomings.

He slammed the closet door shut, then winced. He had to be careful here, he realized. He had to be careful with everything. He felt a tightness in his chest, making it hard to breathe. He wondered if this was his life now.

He went to the living room to watch TV, which was the only thing he could think to do.