Gemotions

"It’s time, Leo," his mother had said, her voice flat, her face pale. She was pointing to the antique dollhouse, the one his grandmother had meticulously crafted, filled with tiny, perfect furnishings. He'd never cared about the thing. But he knew how much his mother treasured it.

He sat on the worn couch, legs splayed, staring at the dollhouse. It seemed to have lost its charm. His mouth was dry, his throat constricted. He felt an intense apathy, a deadening of feeling that made him want to shut his eyes and sleep for a week.

He didn't speak, just rubbed his temples, trying to ward off the throbbing that had begun there. He felt the familiar weight of obligation settle over him.