Gemotions

A wave of heat washed over Michael's face. He could feel his pulse hammering against his temples. This journalist, this… this *person*, had the gall to write about his childhood trauma, using details that were supposedly gleaned from "close sources" – sources Michael had never even met. He crumpled the newspaper in his hands, the newsprint leaving smudges on his palms. He tossed it into the trash, the action performed with a jerky motion.

He rubbed his forehead, trying to rub away the throbbing ache. He wanted to scream. He wanted to hunt this writer down. He wanted to... he didn't know what he wanted. He just knew this… this intrusion had left him feeling thoroughly out of sorts.