Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the living room as Clara paced. Each footfall on the hardwood floor sounded abnormally loud in the sudden quiet of the apartment. She’d found the manuscript tucked under the mattress, a sprawling document with her name, thinly veiled, as the main character. A knot tightened in her stomach.

She ran a hand through her already messy hair, her fingers snagging on a particularly stubborn tangle. Had he been observing her, cataloging her quirks, her failings? Was every shared laugh, every quiet moment, fuel for his literary creation? The thought made her skin prickle.

She snatched her phone from the coffee table. She didn't want to know the whole truth right now. She opened the text app and deleted the message she had just written him. Then, she typed, deleted, and typed again, the words jumbled in her head. Instead she sent a simple "On my way" and hit send.