Gemotions

The thumping bass had finally ceased. Silence, heavy and suffocating, now filled the apartment. David scrubbed at the counter, the harsh bristles of the brush a futile attempt to scrub away the evening's transgressions. He kept seeing Mrs. Gable's face at his door, etched with a fatigue he knew he'd inflicted. He’d ignored her pleas, the music swelling louder, a deliberate act of defiance. Now, the quiet felt like a punishment.

He should have turned it down. He should have been considerate. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture a nervous tic.

The leftover pizza sat forlornly in a box. He’d barely touched it. His stomach churned. He knew he wouldn’t be able to eat until he made amends.