Gemotions

He stared at the roses, crimson and perfect, resting on his doorstep. The paper they were wrapped in felt slick against his sweaty palms. No message. His pulse hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the sudden quiet of the morning. His phone buzzed - a text from his mother, asking if he was free for lunch. He ignored it.

He slammed the door, his heart threatening to burst from his chest. He backed away from the flowers, suddenly afraid of them, of what they represented. He stumbled backward, knocking over a coat rack, the metallic clang echoing in the sudden, echoing silence of the hall. He ran his hands through his hair, tugging at the strands until they ached. The unanswered questions swirled, threatening to drown him.