Gemotions

He'd gotten used to the mail, and the packages, all addressed to *Theodore Finch*. This one was particularly irritating, a large, heavy box that had clearly been through some abuse. He kicked it aside.

He finally relented, though, grudgingly dragging it inside. He slashed the tape, anticipating some ridiculous item. It was full of books. He flipped through one, the cover displaying some flowery landscape. The pages felt expensive, high quality.

He shoved the box into the back of his closet, a tight knot forming in his stomach. The thought of Theodore Finch, reading and enjoying himself, felt deeply wrong. He’d never even seen the man.