Gemotions

The cardboard box sat on the kitchen counter, mocking him. It had arrived three days ago, addressed to "Mr. Abernathy, Apt. 3B." He was in 3B, but no Abernathy had lived here in years. He knew he should have taken it back to the post office immediately, or at least left a note for the carrier. Instead, he'd shoved it under the sink, out of sight.

He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he’d picked up. His stomach felt tight, a persistent knot that wouldn't loosen. He'd been jumpy all day, easily startled by the slightest noise. The tap of the dripping faucet seemed to echo in the sudden quiet of the apartment.

He peeked at the box again. It was sealed with heavy-duty tape. He imagined the contents, possibly something valuable, something belonging to the rightful recipient. The thought pricked at him. He poured himself a glass of water, trying to ignore the way his hand trembled as he lifted it.