Gemotions

The bar was packed, the air thick with the smell of stale beer and desperation. Finn clutched his pint so tightly that his knuckles were white. He was a regular here, a quiet observer. Tonight, however, the boisterous laughter and drunken singalongs felt like an assault. Then the band started their set. A familiar intro. His intro.

His stomach lurched. He felt a sudden, almost unbearable heat. It wasn't the crowded room; it was a rising tide of something else. He felt exposed, stripped bare. The lead singer’s voice, a gravelly imitation of his own, grated on his ears. He winced, his face flushing.

"Sounds good, yeah?" his friend, Mark, yelled over the music. Finn just nodded, unable to meet his gaze. He wanted to shout, to run onstage, to tell them to stop. He wanted to disappear. He took a large gulp of his beer, then another, trying to drown out the sound, trying to calm the tremor in his hands. It didn’t work.