Gemotions

The garage door slid open, revealing nothing but darkness. He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers tangling in the strands. The motorcycle, his escape, his freedom, was absent. He bit down on his lip, tasting the metallic tang of blood. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled.

His mind was a whirlpool of questions, of accusations. Was it a mistake? Was he being targeted? The world narrowed down to the space in front of him, the emptiness a void that threatened to swallow him whole. His breathing became rapid, shallow. He felt exposed and defenseless.