Gemotions

The chipped mug trembled in Leo's hand, the lukewarm coffee a bitter echo of the morning. His mother, bless her heart, had set out his favorite, a dark roast he'd loved since college. Now, the aroma scraped against the raw edges of his anxiety. He avoided her gaze, focusing instead on the swirling patterns on the linoleum floor of the kitchen, each imperfection a tiny pinprick against the vast, empty space that had become his life.

He knew she was watching him. He could feel it, a weight settling on his shoulders with every ticking second of the grandfather clock in the hallway. "Sleep okay, honey?" she asked, her voice a little too bright.

Leo mumbled a response, something about tossing and turning. He hated the way his voice sounded, thin and reedy, a stranger's voice trapped in his own throat. He bolted down the coffee and nearly dropped the mug in the sink. He mumbled something about needing to go, and hurried away from the kitchen, from her concerned, yet hopeful eyes, the fear of the future clenching his chest.