Gemotions

The pounding in Leo’s head was a relentless drumbeat against the silence. He blinked, trying to focus on the cheap, floral wallpaper that seemed to undulate in the dim hallway light. A folded note, creased with impatience, was clutched in his trembling hand. "Please, keep it down." it scrawled, from Mrs. Gable. He didn't even remember *doing* anything.

He shuffled back into his apartment, the linoleum floor feeling strangely tilted. He’d been watching… something… on the television. Was it cartoons? A nature documentary? He couldn't quite grasp it. His limbs felt heavy, detached, as if he was wading through thick water.

The memory of the argument, the raised voice of a woman, flickered at the edge of his awareness. A distant, angry buzzing sounded somewhere in his ears. He sank into his armchair, the floral pattern blurring again. He needed a drink, he thought, but what even *was* he supposed to drink?