Gemotions

From the moment David stepped inside, he was surveying the scene. He noted the placement of furniture, the position of the windows. He found himself cataloging every noise, every shadow. The house, usually a place of comfort, felt like a stage, and he was the only actor in a play he hadn't rehearsed.

He ate dinner with his parents, pretending to listen to their stories. But his attention was elsewhere. He kept his head on a swivel, assessing the room, picking up on the subtlest cues, the slightest changes in expression. His jaw was clenched, his shoulders stiff.

"You alright, dear?" his mother asked, her voice filled with concern. David forced a smile. "Fine, Mom," he said, the words feeling brittle, fragile, a paper-thin shield against an unknown danger.