Gemotions

The tulips arrived in a plain brown paper. Liam barely glanced at the delivery person before signing the receipt. He barely looked at the flowers either. His mind was already miles away, replaying the last conversation, each word a fresh sting. He ripped the paper off with a practiced brutality, the flowers now prisoners of their own beauty. The yellow blooms felt accusatory, their cheerful faces a direct insult. Liam slammed the vase onto the counter, the force a physical manifestation of his simmering resentment. "Well," he muttered aloud, "at least they're pretty." He did not look at the flowers again.