Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of the dive bar, mirroring the storm inside Leo. He hunched further into the shadows, nursing a lukewarm beer. The opening chords of *Heartbreak Hotel*, his song, drifted from the small stage. Not his version, but a butchered, karaoke-night rendition by some drunkard with a voice like gravel. Leo flinched, the sound scraping against the raw edges of a past he couldn’t outrun. He hadn’t written a song in years. He’d traded the guitar for a desk job, the stage for a spreadsheet. He felt a weight on his chest, a slow-burning ache that wouldn’t let go.

The singer hit a particularly sour note. Leo squeezed his eyes shut. It was a joke now, his legacy. He’d abandoned it all, and this was the consequence. He wanted to shout, to stop the music, but his throat felt thick, constricted. He just wanted to disappear.