Gemotions

The clinking of silverware and the murmur of conversation filled the air, each sound amplified in Leo’s ears. He sat at his table, the words he needed to say forming a tight knot in his stomach. His palms were slick.

He saw his mother across the room, radiant and happy, and he felt a pang of guilt. He was supposed to celebrate her. He wanted to, he really did. But the fear, icy and sharp, was a constant companion.

He excused himself to go to the bathroom. He leaned against the cool tile wall, attempting to regulate his breathing. Each breath felt like a monumental effort. He was trapped.