Gemotions

He ran a hand over his tired eyes. The deadline loomed, a monstrous shadow cast over his week, and his stomach churned with a mixture of dread and hunger. The ringing of the doorbell was the last thing he needed. He slammed the laptop shut, the abrupt action echoing the tension that had settled in his shoulders.

A package sat on the welcome mat, addressed to "Ms. Eleanor Vance." His brow furrowed. That name. That was the woman who had lived here before he had. He wanted to go and just go back to his work.

He should have just left it there, but the thought of the delivery person having to return, the wasted effort, clawed at him. It was a compulsion, the need to avoid any further complication. He ripped the box open, hoping it was something inconsequential.