Gemotions

“What’s up, Sam?” Mark’s voice was too loud, a bit too jovial, trying to mask his underlying anxiety. He slammed the door behind him and headed straight for the bourbon bottle. He poured a generous measure, watching the amber liquid swirl in the glass.

He had expected this to happen eventually. All the signs were there. Still, the reality felt like a punch to the gut. This building was the only place he’d ever truly called home. He took a long, harsh swallow, the liquor burning its way down his throat.

He knew he couldn’t afford the likely condo price. He'd have to move, and he hated the prospect. Each swallow was a forced attempt to drown out the voice in his head that was now screaming, and he found he couldn’t take a breath.