Gemotions

The air in the living room was thick with unspoken tension. I sat on the edge of the sofa, hands clasped tightly in my lap, trying to control the tremor in my fingers. Across from me, Daniel was beaming, holding a tiny, squirming kitten. "Isn't he adorable?" he asked, his voice full of warmth.

I forced a smile, the muscles in my face protesting. I wanted to scream, to run. The thought of another living being demanding attention, of the constant noise and mess, made my stomach churn. The shared space suddenly felt like a cage, shrinking with every passing second. I felt the urge to claw at the walls, to tear them down and create my own sanctuary. The kitten purred, and I felt sick.