Gemotions

"Again?" The voice was a low growl, barely audible above the rhythmic thumping that seemed to be vibrating through Simon's bones. He stared at the ceiling, the light fixture swaying slightly, a subtle but insistent movement mirroring his own inner turmoil. He was a good person! Why was this happening?

He had just wanted to relax. The bass, a deep, resonant thrum, was supposed to be soothing. The cops would be here. They would take him to jail.

He buried his face in his hands, pressing his palms against his eyes. The world spun. He could taste bile in his throat. This wasn't supposed to happen. He wanted to be good. He wanted to go home.