Gemotions

The chipped ceramic mug felt alien in Leo's hands. It was the same one his mother had used for her morning Earl Grey every single day for as long as he could remember. Now, here he was, hunched at the kitchen table, the early morning light hitting the dust motes dancing in the air. He hadn't envisioned this. The lease on his apartment ended, and here he was, back in the house he'd fled ten years ago. He took a shaky sip of the lukewarm tea, the taste strangely familiar, yet completely wrong.

His father, in his usual khaki shorts and a golf shirt, lumbered into the kitchen. "Morning, son. Sleep alright?" The question felt like a lead weight in the air. Leo just managed a weak nod. He was not alright, and he certainly hadn't slept.

He’d almost forgotten the suffocating smell of his mother’s floral air freshener that she sprayed in every room. It was like a thick blanket.