Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of Leo's apartment, mirroring the turmoil in his gut. The crimson roses, a dozen perfect blooms, sat on his coffee table, a scarlet stain on his otherwise minimalist existence. No note. No sender. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he hadn't realized he’d adopted.

He went to the window, the rain blurring the city lights into streaks of orange and yellow. He felt his jaw tighten. He kept looking out every few minutes. Who knew he’d been so alone? He hadn't told anyone he was moving.

He finally went to the phone and called his sister. "Did you send me flowers?" he asked, his voice strained. Her confused "No" did not settle him. He felt exposed, vulnerable, a target. He poured himself a whiskey, the ice clinking like a warning.