Gemotions

The roses, crimson and velvety, dominated the small space of his cramped office. He kept glancing at them, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm against the surface of his desk. He’d barely slept since they'd arrived. The delivery man had just grinned, said "Enjoy!" and left.

He was usually meticulous. Detail-oriented. He found it difficult to focus on the paperwork in front of him. Each breath felt shallow, as if the air itself had become thick and heavy. He picked up one of the roses, its fragrance now almost cloying. He pictured her face, the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed. Was this a threat?

He needed to know, but to ask would be to admit his own failings. He wanted to throw them out, to rid himself of the unsettling reminder, but he couldn't. He didn't dare. He would leave them there to wither and decay.