Gemotions

A cold sweat slicked down Elias's back, plastering his shirt to him. The envelope felt heavy, as if weighted with something more than just paper. He clutched it, knuckles white, in the dimly lit hallway of his apartment. He didn’t want to go inside, to face it. The memories, they surged, unbidden. The way his stomach twisted.

He fumbled with the key, his hands clumsy and unsteady. Each click of the lock, each squeak of the door, seemed to echo in his ears. He wanted to run, to disappear. He didn't want the past to catch up to him. He was a tightly coiled spring, ready to snap.

Finally, he closed the door and turned, his eyes darting to the window. He ripped the envelope open, his breaths coming in short, shallow pants. The contents spilled onto the table, a single sheet of paper.