Gemotions

He paced the confines of their apartment, the worn rug under his feet a familiar, but unwelcome, companion. Each circuit of the living room felt tighter, the walls closing in. A tightness gripped his chest, a sensation he couldn't shake. He kept glancing at the closed bedroom door, a dark portal to the secrets that had begun to haunt him. That damned phone. Always disappearing. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands in agitation.

He poured himself a whiskey, the amber liquid swirling in the glass, mirroring the turmoil within. He needed an escape, needed to understand why he couldn't relax. He stared at the phone.