Gemotions

"Oh, God," whispered David, staring at the roses. They were crimson, spilling from a crystal vase on his coffee table. He felt his face heat up. It had been years. He’d tried to forget. He’d built a life. He paced the small living room, the wood floor creaking under his weight.

He ran a hand over his stubble, a nervous habit. The silence in his apartment was almost unbearable. He grabbed his phone and started to type a message, then deleted it. He was not going to give into the panic. He was not going to let it ruin everything. He took a deep, shuddering breath, then grabbed his coat. He needed a walk.