Gemotions

The florist's delivery boy had a smile that grated on Leo's nerves. He hadn’t ordered flowers. He’d barely spoken to anyone in days. The roses, deep red like spilled blood, sat on the mahogany desk, a jarring splash of color in the otherwise monochrome room. He circled them.

He kept his hands in his pockets, a restless energy buzzing through him. He opened a drawer and removed a bottle of whiskey and poured himself a generous measure. The liquid burned a path down his throat, momentarily numbing the persistent ache behind his eyes. He leaned against the window, watching the city lights blur into streaks of yellow and orange.