Gemotions

He slammed the gym bag against the wall. The sound was a sharp, angry punctuation mark in the silence of his room. Michael slumped onto his bed, the springs groaning in protest. He stared at the ceiling, the popcorn texture blurring at the edges. His stomach was a knot, twisting with a familiar, unwelcome intensity. The air felt thick, heavy, like a suffocating blanket. He balled his fists, the knuckles white against his skin, then slowly, deliberately, unclenched them. The thought of facing his friends, of having to explain, sent another wave of unease crashing over him.