Gemotions

He had been staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours. Each creak of the old house was amplified, making him jump. The note, tucked under his door, felt heavy in his pocket. It demanded quiet.

His chest felt tight, constricted. He ran a hand through his already messy hair, leaving it standing on end. He hadn't meant for things to get out of hand. The drums weren't loud, he didn't think.

He closed his eyes. The imagined rhythm of the drums, the insistent beat, echoed in his skull. He should just stop. It was the only way to avoid another confrontation. He felt a deep, uncomfortable ache in his gut.