Gemotions

The stale air of her apartment clung to Liam. He hadn't showered in two days, the grime a physical manifestation of his inner turmoil. He was meant to be at the gym, the routine a lifeline, but the weight of his failures kept him anchored to the sofa. His phone buzzed, a jarring intrusion. He glanced at the screen: "Hey, are you still planning on bringing the casserole? - Mom." Wrong number. He sighed.

He typed a quick apology, explaining the misdirection. The reply came almost instantly: "No problem. Just making sure *someone* was contributing something." Liam’s stomach twisted. He hated the subtle jabs, the gentle reminders of his current dependence.

He tossed the phone onto the coffee table, a cheap particleboard affair that wobbled under the impact. He felt hollow, empty. A shell of a person, existing only to disappoint. He went to the kitchen and stared blankly at the fridge, wishing he had the energy to eat, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.