Gemotions

The clinking of silverware and the polite applause were like a soundtrack to his misery. He forced a smile, the muscles in his face protesting with each forced upward curve. The champagne felt flat on his tongue. He found himself tapping his foot, a restless rhythm against the carpet.

His mind raced, replaying every mistake, every perceived slight, every occasion he'd disappointed his father. He couldn't shake the feeling of inadequacy. He felt like he would throw up his whole meal, which was still sitting, undigested, in his stomach.

He wished he could vanish. He considered faking a sudden migraine, a mysterious stomach bug, anything to escape the unbearable pressure. But it was too late. His name was being called.