Gemotions

He stared at the package, the bright yellow tape a garish splash of color against his otherwise drab hallway. “Sarah Chen,” the label proclaimed, a name that belonged to the previous owner of this apartment, a woman he'd never met. The package was addressed in a flamboyant, looping script that felt accusatory. He was frozen.

He felt the familiar thrum of his pulse in his throat. He picked up the package. It rattled slightly as though containing fragile objects. He felt a weird need to sit down.

He walked over to the kitchen table and placed the package down. He thought about leaving it where it was. He thought about calling the delivery company. He thought about what Sarah Chen ordered.