Gemotions

"Did you take out the trash, honey?" His father's question, delivered with a gentle tone, felt like a direct assault. Ben flinched, the sound of the words seeming to reverberate through his skull. He avoided his father's gaze, staring at the chipped paint on the kitchen table.

He had become a master of avoiding eye contact, of finding ways to make himself scarce. He spent his days in his room, the small space feeling both confining and like his only sanctuary. The constant expectations and unspoken judgment felt like a heavy weight pressing down on his shoulders.

He tried to distract himself with video games, but the flashing lights and sounds only served to amplify his inner turmoil. He was caught in a cycle of aimlessness and self-reproach, the days bleeding into each other. He felt like a ghost, haunting the house he had once called home.