Gemotions

“Thank you,” he mumbled, taking the lilies from the delivery person. He gripped the vase, the smooth glass a cold comfort against his sweating palms. No card. Just a bouquet of pure, unsettling white.

He locked the door behind him and leaned against it, the weight of the vase a constant reminder. The silence in the apartment was deafening, amplifying the frantic rhythm of his heart. He felt as though the walls were closing in on him.

He carried the flowers, slowly, cautiously, to the kitchen, every step a deliberate act of survival. He placed them on the table, trying to catch his breath. He had to be calm. He had to think.