Gemotions

The phone buzzed, vibrating across the polished surface of his desk. He stared at it, ignoring the insistent hum. It was probably his publicist, wanting a comment, a reaction, something. He didn’t want to react. He wanted to be left alone.

The book sat on his desk, its title mocking him: "Silas Blackwood: The Quiet Man." They had portrayed him as a recluse, a solitary figure. It was partially true, but not the whole story. They had missed the nuance, the complexity, the reasons behind his choices.

He swiveled in his chair, gazing out at the city skyline. It was a beautiful view, but tonight, it felt like an extension of the prison in which he felt trapped. He wanted to lash out, to defend himself. He clenched his jaw, the muscles tightening.