Gemotions

The tremor in Leo’s hands wasn’t from the coffee. He cradled the mug, pretending to savor the warmth, as the thud of hammers echoed through his apartment. It was a constant, insistent rhythm. His lease had expired two months ago, and he was still packing boxes, each item a memory, each empty space a loss.

He hadn’t been able to make a decision in weeks. He was trapped in the apartment. The new construction next door meant that his window now overlooked the chaos of exposed beams and scaffolding. He hated it.

The other people, the other homes, the building site, were all so different from him and his situation. He felt a constant pressure, a low hum of unease. He avoided eye contact with the construction workers whenever he ran to the grocery store, head down, shoulders hunched. The relentless assault on his senses was a constant reminder of his instability.