Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the tempest inside him. He’d just poured another inch of whiskey when the doorbell chimed. He ignored it, the sound grating on his already frayed nerves. It persisted, a shrill, unwelcome intrusion. Muttering under his breath, he finally stalked to the door, peering through the peephole. A delivery person, soaked to the bone, held a small package. "For Mr. Henderson," the person said, voice muffled by the downpour. He signed the slip, his hand clumsy with the bottle's weight, and slammed the door shut. He tossed the package onto the already cluttered entryway table, another unwanted distraction. He went back to the comfort of his drink. He had no intention of bothering to find out what it was.