Gemotions

The air in the coach's office felt thick, heavy with unspoken truths. I shifted uncomfortably in the hard plastic chair, my palms dampening. The rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall was the loudest sound.

He started speaking, and a pit opened in my stomach. I focused on the cracks in the ceiling, the peeling paint. I didn’t want to look at him. I didn't want him to see.

When he finished, I rose, my legs feeling like rubber. I muttered a goodbye, my voice cracking, then practically stumbled out of the room, desperate to escape the suffocating space.