Gemotions

The thumping bass still echoed faintly, even after he'd shut the windows. He’d cranked the volume to eleven, letting the music wash over him, a desperate attempt to drown out the ache. He turned the music down further, the sudden quiet making the silence more deafening than the noise had been. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he'd been repeating all evening.

He should go over, apologize. But the thought of facing Mrs. Henderson, her disappointment radiating off her like heat, tied knots in his stomach. He’d seen her watering her prize-winning roses earlier, a picture of placid contentment. Now, he imagined her face, etched with a disapproval that would feel like a physical blow.

He shuffled through the house, unable to settle. Every creak of the floorboards felt amplified. The insistent ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway seemed to mock him, each tick a reminder of the wasted hours, the disruption he’d caused. He poured himself a glass of water, the cool liquid doing nothing to soothe the heat that burned in his cheeks.