Gemotions

The wallet was heavy in his pocket, a constant reminder of his transgression. He'd found it near the bus stop and though he told himself he should return it, he'd kept it. He kept running his hand through his hair, the gesture a nervous habit that had started since he'd picked it up.

He avoided eye contact with everyone. He ate dinner alone in his apartment, the silence amplifying the thrumming anxiety in his ears. He couldn't focus on the television, the images flickering and blurring before his eyes.

He tried to distract himself by cleaning his apartment, scrubbing at the same spot on the countertop for an hour. Still, the weight in his pocket felt like a physical burden. He knew he should do something.