Gemotions

He’d left the manuscript open on the coffee table. Thomas found it by accident, a few hours before their anniversary dinner. His stomach churned. The protagonist, a man struggling with his art, was clearly based on him, but the woman he was in love with, and the reason he was so unhappy, was a distorted reflection of him.

He reread the offending chapters, his jaw tight, his chest a tight knot. He found himself picking at the skin around his thumbnails until they bled. The way his partner, Sarah, was depicted – controlling, dismissive, always focused on her own ambition – sent a cold current down his spine. This wasn't just artistic license; this felt like a betrayal.

The scent of roasting chicken from the oven suddenly became cloying, suffocating. He turned off the oven, feeling a wave of nausea wash over him. Later, when Sarah returned, smiling and humming, he barely registered her presence. He simply walked to the bedroom, closed the door, and locked it. He wouldn't be attending the dinner.