Gemotions

The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows on the walls of the library. Ethan sat across from Liam, a half-finished glass of whiskey in his hand, the manuscript lying between them. Liam, normally a picture of calm, looked utterly mortified.

"It's… fiction," Liam stammered, his voice barely a whisper. His fingers were nervously playing with the edge of the table.

Ethan took another sip, the bitter liquid doing little to soothe his rising anger. The characters, the setting, everything was lifted directly from their life together. The things Liam had written – the casual barbs, the petty jealousies – felt like personal betrayals. He felt a throbbing sensation behind his eyes.

"Fiction," Ethan repeated, the word a flat, empty sound. He wanted to smash the glass against the wall.