Gemotions

The silence in the apartment felt thick, suffocating. He watched as the cardboard box sat innocently on the floor. "A puppy?" The question escaped his lips, sounding small and insignificant. His hands fidgeted, picking at the loose threads of his jeans.

He saw it: the chewing, the messes, the training, the constant demands. He felt a sudden, sharp pang of anxiety, a prickling sensation that traveled down his spine. The thought of his apartment being turned into a playground, the end of the quiet evenings he so cherished, filled him with a growing sense of dread.

"He needs a name," his roommate, David, said, looking at him expectantly. He couldn't form a response. The room tilted. He wanted out.