Gemotions

"More tea, dear?" His aunt, visiting for the weekend, peered at him with too much concern. He managed a weak smile, shaking his head.

He sat on the floral-print sofa, feeling the itchy fabric against his skin. He wanted to disappear. He thought of his old apartment, with its peeling paint and mismatched furniture, its glorious, chaotic freedom.

He watched the conversation swirl around him, his mother and aunt’s voices rising and falling in a practiced rhythm. He felt a disconnect, as if he were observing a play, a performance he wasn't allowed to participate in.

His hands fidgeted, tracing the outline of a faded stain on the armrest. He longed to move, to go somewhere, anywhere, but the pull of the room felt stronger, a magnetic force holding him down.