Gemotions

The pounding bass resonated through Marcus's apartment, a throbbing pulse against his sternum. He checked the time; eleven-thirty. He'd been asked, politely, to keep the noise down hours ago. A slow burn of annoyance crept through him. He wouldn't cave. Not tonight.

He grabbed his phone, opened the messaging app, and tapped out a concise, "Can't hear you." Then he switched off the phone and, with a tight jaw, increased the volume. The walls seemed to vibrate. His fists clenched as he surveyed the tiny living room, the scene of his defiant concert.

A knock, insistent and rapid, slammed against his door. He inhaled deeply, steeling himself. He marched towards it, throwing the door open with an exaggerated flourish. His neighbor, Mrs. Gable, stood there, her face a mask of disapproval. "Turn it down!" she shrieked, her voice barely audible above the music. "I have a right to peace."

He smirked, a tight, unyielding movement of his lips. "And I have a right to enjoy myself," he responded, his voice low and steady. He didn't budge. He wouldn't let her bully him.