Gemotions

He had been unusually quiet lately, that much was clear to Marcus. Tonight, he’d heard the muffled phone call from the guest room, a room that should have been empty. A knot of tightness had settled in his chest, making it difficult to breathe. He sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the cool silk of the sheets against his skin, a chill that went deeper than the fabric.

He picked at the loose threads on the quilt, his mind a whirlwind of possibilities, each one more unwelcome than the last. He could feel the familiar weight of apprehension pressing down on him, a heavy cloak he had worn for as long as he could remember.

He walked into the kitchen, his appetite nonexistent. The half-eaten dinner they had prepared lay on the counter, a silent testament to their disrupted evening. He ran water into a glass, the sound filling the silence with a hollow echo. He felt so alone.