Gemotions

Rain hammered against the windows, mirroring the relentless drumming in Arthur’s head. He stared at the newly painted living room wall, the pale lavender a jarring contrast to the shadows that clung to the corners. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture more a frustrated tug than a grooming. He’d just wanted a fresh start, a clean slate. Now, the realtor’s casual admission that the house had once been the site of a… *situation*, a murder, had tainted everything.

He hadn’t slept well since. The floorboards creaked at night, each groan a phantom footstep. He imagined the scene: the struggle, the fear, the ending. He’d always prided himself on his pragmatism, his ability to compartmentalize. But the knowledge was a cold weight in his stomach, a persistent ache.

He picked up a hammer, the weight a familiar comfort, and began to tap a nail into the wall, a slow, deliberate rhythm. The rhythmic *thunk* was supposed to be soothing. It wasn't. It just felt like a countdown.