Gemotions

The house was cold, despite the thermostat. He poured another glass of whiskey, the amber liquid doing little to warm him from the inside out. He could replay the scene over and over: the phone, the hurried answer, the swift closing of the bedroom door. Now, every touch felt tainted. The silence in the house, previously a comfort, was now a torment, punctuated only by his own heavy breathing.

He considered going outside, but the darkness was even more unsettling. The familiar furniture of his living room looked unfamiliar.

He felt as if he was falling.