Gemotions

The bass drum thumped a relentless rhythm against Michael's skull, a physical manifestation of the turmoil churning inside him. He excused himself from the conversation, feigning a need to refill his glass. The ornate ballroom, normally a spectacle, was a suffocating space filled with ghosts of shared memories.

He found himself pacing near the bar, avoiding eye contact with her at all costs. The memory of their breakup played on repeat in his mind: her face, her words, the crushing weight of their final goodbye. He felt the familiar constriction in his throat, a burning sensation that threatened to erupt.

He considered leaving, just vanishing into the night. But the thought of her seeing him run, seeing him defeated, was even worse. He gripped the bar, knuckles white, forcing himself to breathe. He had to be strong, to act normal, even if he felt as though he were slowly unraveling.