Gemotions

Liam was pacing again. Back and forth in his cramped apartment, the worn rug a familiar landscape under his anxious feet. His jaw was clenched, his shoulders tight. He kept running his hand through his already messy hair. He'd been like this since the mail arrived.

He picked up the unopened envelope. It felt thick, heavy with unspoken things. Twenty years. Twenty years since the incident at the summer camp. The memory, usually dormant, now buzzed in his mind like a persistent mosquito. He swore under his breath, a sharp, irritated sound.

He stared out the window, at the gray urban sprawl, the usual solace now a reminder of how trapped he felt. He wanted to rip the letter apart, burn it, erase the past. But he knew, with a certainty that settled like a stone in his stomach, that he wouldn't. He had to know.