Gemotions

The silence in the bookstore was deafening. Sarah had escaped there after finding the manuscript – a thinly veiled roman à clef, where she was portrayed as a neurotic, impulsive woman. Each word she read that night was a fresh blow.

She scanned the shelves, the spines blurring before her eyes. The sheer volume of books, of stories, felt overwhelming. She felt as though she’d been reduced to a character in a book, and the author had gotten it all wrong. She wanted to scream.

She clutched her purse, her fingers digging into the leather. She wanted to leave, but the thought of returning to the apartment, to the man who’d written those words, filled her with dread. She remained planted where she stood.