Gemotions

He found a complaint slipped under his door. “The late night revelry is unwelcome.” He knew the culprit: old Mr. Abernathy, always peeking through his curtains. He felt a constriction in his throat, a need to defend his space. He had friends over, but the party wasn't out of hand.

He balled the paper in his fist. He decided to turn the music up, just a little. He knew what he was doing was childish, but he didn't care. He needed to prove a point. He felt defiant and alive, even though the knot in his stomach refused to loosen.