Gemotions

The thought of a birdcage, a messy, noisy birdcage, dominating the corner of their living room made Ben’s stomach churn. "No," he had declared, his voice firm, echoing in the otherwise quiet flat.

Sarah, his roommate, had already started researching breeds, showing him pictures of colorful parakeets and chattering cockatiels. She was already shopping for a cage. Ben felt a knot tighten in his chest.

He deliberately avoided the corner where she wanted to place the bird. He started doing dishes, an activity he usually loathed. He scrubbed pots and pans, the rhythmic scraping of the steel a small attempt to drown out the anticipated chirping.

He caught his reflection in the window, his expression tight. A sense of unease settled in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t budging. He wasn’t going to.