Gemotions

He slammed the notice against the chipped countertop, the flimsy paper the only sound in the otherwise quiet apartment. John ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, leaving it standing on end. The air hung thick with the scent of stale coffee and desperation.

His chest felt tight, constricted. He needed air, but the thought of going outside, of facing the judgmental stares of his neighbors, was unbearable. He slumped into a kitchen chair, the wood cold against his clammy palms. He picked at a loose thread on his jeans.

A wave of dizziness washed over him. The walls seemed to close in, the familiar objects of his apartment now menacing. He remembered the landlord’s face – a smug smirk, a predatory gleam. He let out a choked sound, a low rumble of frustration and defeat.