Gemotions

The package, slightly battered, clattered onto the porch as Liam fumbled with his keys. Another thing to deal with. He bent, his back protesting, and dragged it inside. The name – "Ms. Anya Petrova" – meant nothing. He dumped it on the kitchen counter, next to a stack of unread mail.

He considered leaving it for the landlord, a thought that brought a tiny surge of energy, a surge he squashed instantly. He couldn’t be bothered. The dishes piled high in the sink seemed to mock him. His stomach felt like it had hollowed out. He was just so…slow.

He pushed the package further away with his elbow. He wanted nothing but the feeling of the duvet on his skin, the comforting darkness to wash over him. Sleep. That was the only answer.