Gemotions

He slumped onto the threadbare couch, the springs protesting under his weight. The key clutched in his sweaty palm felt like a lead weight. Liam hadn't called. Didn't warn. He just…showed. His mother, bless her heart, had answered the door with a smile. It crumbled fast enough when she saw the suitcase at his feet. "Liam," she’d said, her voice wavering, "What’s wrong?"

He couldn't meet her gaze. The apartment, the job, the *life*…all gone. Poof. Smoke. He hadn't told her about the eviction notice. Didn't want to admit he’d failed, again.

He could feel the familiar itch in his palms, the restless pacing that had plagued him for weeks. He needed to *do* something. Anything. But what? The walls of his childhood bedroom, painted a childish blue, seemed to close in on him.