Gemotions

"I'm on my way," read the text, accidentally sent to the head of the local gang, not his friend. He could taste bile in the back of his throat. He lived in a quiet neighborhood, and he had made an error in sending that text. He threw the phone to the floor, where it skidded across the hardwood, the screen facing up. He considered calling his contact, but a coldness settled in his chest, making him unable to do anything. He sat on the couch, staring blankly at the wall, awaiting the inevitable.