Gemotions

A bead of sweat trickled down Leo’s temple as he stared at the screen. The familiar angles of the roof, the slightly crooked window on the second floor – his childhood home, reduced to a collection of bland adjectives and staged photographs. He felt a chill, even though the room was warm.

He reached for his water, his hand shaking so violently he almost knocked it over. His breathing quickened, shallow and rapid. He imagined the realtor's spiel, the buyers murmuring about the “great bones” and “potential,” their voices a muffled drone in his ears.

He stood abruptly, pacing the cramped apartment. He needed air, needed to be away from the suffocating presence of the listing. He grabbed his coat, the fabric suddenly heavy on his shoulders. The street outside, usually a source of comfort, now seemed to press in on him, the city's noise amplified and hostile.