Gemotions

The moving crew had just finished unloading his things when the realization hit David: he was *actually* doing this. He slumped against the wall of his childhood bedroom, the same faded wallpaper staring back at him. His heart hammered. The air felt thick, heavy with the weight of expectation. It felt like he'd aged backwards, his maturity evaporated.

He looked at the dusty baseball trophies still lining the shelves. He'd thought he had grown beyond this, beyond his parents' watchful gaze. He'd failed. He picked up one of the trophies, running his fingers over the inscription. "Most Valuable Player." He let out a shaky breath. Had he ever been that person? Had he ever truly been in control?

His father poked his head into the room. "Need any help unpacking, son?"