Gemotions

The air in the ballroom was thick with perfume and forced conviviality. James stood near the buffet table, picking at a miniature quiche, the food offering no solace. He felt a deep, pervasive lethargy, an emptiness that seemed to seep into his bones.

He knew he needed to mingle, to engage in polite conversation. But the very thought exhausted him. He preferred the quiet, the darkness, the unburdened space of his own thoughts.

He saw his father across the room, smiling and shaking hands. He felt a pang of guilt, but the impulse to move, to go and embrace, was absent. He lingered by the table, the quiche growing cold in his hand, a physical manifestation of his internal state.