Gemotions

Michael slammed the car door a little too hard. The argument with his brother still echoed in his ears, a relentless drumbeat. He sank onto the worn sofa, the familiar scent of old books and dust doing little to soothe his frayed nerves. He picked up Lily's artwork, scattered across the coffee table. She loved drawing monsters. Always had. One drawing featured a lanky, purple figure with too many fingers and a disturbingly cheerful expression. A figure he remembered vividly, though he hadn't thought of it in decades. Blorp. His imaginary friend. He had a sudden urge to break something.

He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he hadn't realized he still did. The weight of his family's disapproval settled heavily on his shoulders. He felt a deep ache within him, a kind of emptiness that made him want to hide.