Gemotions

Rain hammered against the window, mimicking the dull ache in Arthur's temples. He’d slammed the door on his way in, the sound echoing through the sterile apartment. Now, slumped on the threadbare sofa, he stared at the crimson roses sitting on the coffee table. No card. Just the vibrant, accusing blooms. He hadn't expected them. Or anything, really.

He reached for the remote, switching on the television, letting the mindless chatter fill the silence. A commercial for a new brand of sparkling water flashed across the screen. He picked up a rose, the velvety petals cool against his fingertips. He crushed it, slowly, the delicate structure yielding to his grip, leaving a crimson stain on his palm. He stood and walked to the kitchen, tossing the remains into the trash.