Gemotions

He’d locked the study door. Liam knew, of course, that the key was hidden under the ceramic frog on the windowsill. The flimsy lock was no match for his mounting panic. He felt like his lungs were constricting. He needed answers. He needed to understand. He wrenched the door open, the wood scraping against the frame, a sound that echoed the turmoil within him.

The manuscript lay open on the desk, the words a cruel mockery of their shared life. He sank into the chair, the stuffing prickling against his skin. His stomach churned. He felt a deep, almost primal need to be heard, to explain the things that were being so callously judged. The room spun around him; it took him a long while to calm down.