Novel & Cerita Emotional Closet

How could you fall weak in front of this silly emotions? You are not in a position to be emotional. Your only one emotional steps could take your life away. How could you forget what happened five years ago, on that day? How could you? My inner demons drag me back to reality trapping all my emotions inside the darkroom of my hidden lost soul. My hidden tears should be buried with me.

I couldn't bear the touch of her anymore, the weight of her sadness, the fear that pulsed in her every breath. I walked into the closet, my movements mechanical, my mind a storm of conflicting emotions. I pulled on a suit, the fabric stiff and unyielding against my skin. I didn't need comfort, I didn't need warmth. I needed to disappear, to escape the storm that raged within me.

But he’d also pinpointed all my attributes. I’d spent my entire life believing that I had to hide my emotions. I’d gone through great lengths to do it. I’d never really shown Cassandra the sort of affection I’d actually felt for her early on in our marriage. I’d always been stoic when it came to anything intimate or emotional because I carried such a deeply rooted embarrassment over my wild and extreme feelings.

Seeing Raya run to her side, watching the genuine, unfiltered relief wash over their faces, felt like a structural weight finally being lifted off my shoulders. I kept my features set in a neutral, impenetrable mask. I didn't need to broadcast that I was over the moon; in this business, emotion is a luxury that can easily be turned into a liability. I’ve seen what happens to men who wear their hearts on their sleeves in the boardrooms and on the streets—they get torn apart. So, I stayed back, a silent observer in the shadows of the room.

The same Emily? The craziest thing is I can’t cry. I feel nothing. No tears, no anger—just this hollow emptiness. The last therapist I spoke with said it’s a defense mechanism. That I’m in denial of my actual emotions. Cry it out, Julie, she used to say. Let yourself be free of the burden. Well, they can all go to hell. Ryan. Emily. The therapist. My entire family. I know what I need. A drink. I pull into the nearest bar and head inside.

He didn't turn when I came in or acknowledged the door, my footsteps, or the small, tentative pause I made just inside the threshold while I figured out what I was doing. He really doesn't want me here, I should go. I thought. I almost left. Standing there in the dark with the city behind him, he looked like someone who had folded in on himself so completely that offering comfort would feel like an intrusion. I had spent exactly no time in my life learning how to walk into a room and make someone's grief smaller. The only thing I learnt was to hide my emotions behind a mask, lest it was manipulated and used against me . I mean, my father never cried in front of me, not once. And my stepmothe

I didn’t want anyone to see me break down, but the pressure of the moment was too great. I hurried away from the hallway, not caring where I was going as long as it was somewhere out of sight. My feet carried me to a nearby storage closet, the small, cramped space offering a semblance of privacy. I yanked open the door and slipped inside, closing it behind me with a soft click.

“ Don’t worry, your pretty little head with that. Luckily for you, not everyone is as emotionally closed off and slow as you. “ “Oh, shut up! Who the hell are you to speak!? You didn’t even bother to make yourself know before now! I have been taking care of myself or us all the time!” “Yeah, right; I’ve actually used the time to heal. I took the problem by its roots and yanked them up. I worked on my challenges and made myself better.. That’s why I’ve only been here, mostly in spirit. On the other hand, you act like a stubborn child, deeply afraid of everything remotely close to emotions. You didn’t do anything else than take a shovel and toss some soil on your problems. Giving them time an

That she thought he was safer than me. That she trusted him more than she trusts me. The thought hits harder than it should. I push it away and open my laptop. There’s a spreadsheet in front of me, numbers in organized rows, and I stare at them without seeing anything. Instead, I see her. I curse under my breath and shut the laptop. I’ve always been good at compartmentalizing. At burying emotions so deeply that they suffocate before they reach the surface. My father trained me well. Emotions are weaknesses. Attachments are liabilities.

“I'm tired of being your dirty little secret, available to fuck whenever you want and then to be ignored or treated like a servant when you're bored. I don't want to stand to the side while you brazenly flirt with some British duchess or whatever.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to calm down. I knew I wasn't saying the right words, that I was getting frustrated and snapping, but I couldn’t stop it at the same time. It was hard to explain how it wasn't just one thing – it wasn't the duchess, it was everything. I hadn't realized how much being closeted would bother me, since back in Boston it hadn't been a problem. But one by one, the problems had built up, and I was crumbling under t