Gemotions

He stared at the flowers, a riot of orange and yellow, sitting innocently on his desk. They were delivered this morning while he was at a meeting, a fact the receptionist had helpfully announced, her tone bubbling with curiosity. A wave of heat washed over him. He felt a tightness in his chest, making it difficult to breathe. No sender. No note.

He'd been feeling off-kilter lately, sleeping poorly, his appetite gone. The flowers amplified the feeling of being watched, of something lurking just beyond his perception. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. This was ridiculous. He probably knew the person, and they had just forgotten to include a card.

He walked over to the window, gazing at the city below. He saw nothing, just the usual hustle and bustle. But the scent of the flowers filled the air, a sweet perfume that suddenly felt cloying and intrusive. He closed the blinds, the sudden dimness offering a small measure of comfort. He kept checking over his shoulder.