Gemotions

The blaring music from the apartment upstairs pounded like a migraine. Michael flinched, his temples throbbing. He wanted to go up and ask them to turn it down, but his throat constricted. His heart raced. He kept imagining their reaction.

He started to pace around his apartment. He was already late on an important project. He should go up there, get it sorted. He should. He felt his face flush with a warmth of shame. The idea of conflict made him nauseous. He poured himself a large glass of water, hoping the simple act might help calm him down.