Gemotions

The thumping bass vibrated through the floorboards, a relentless pulse that mirrored the frantic hammering in Arthur's chest. He knew the neighbor, Mrs. Gable, would be at the door soon. He hadn’t meant to play the music so loud, but the silence in his apartment had become unbearable. Each tick of the clock, each drip from the leaky faucet, was a pointed reminder of his isolation. He hadn’t left the house in days, the unopened mail piling up like a monument to his inaction. He felt his stomach twist as the doorbell finally rang.

He didn't move for a moment. He imagined her standing there, the disapproval etched on her face. Her voice, thin and reedy, would cut through him. He’d apologize, of course, but the words would feel hollow, another lie in a long string of them. He dragged himself to the door, hands heavy at his sides.

“Oh, Arthur, dear,” Mrs. Gable began, her voice even sharper than he anticipated. “The noise. Honestly.” He mumbled a weak apology, avoiding her gaze. He felt the blood rush to his face, a burning shame he couldn't seem to extinguish.