Gemotions

The newspaper, folded neatly on the kitchen table, seemed to mock him. A crimson flush crept up Liam's neck, scorching his skin. He snatched it up, crumpling the flimsy paper in his hand. The words, his words, were staring back at him, but adorned with a stranger's name. A guttural sound escaped his throat, a noise that was half-choke, half-growl. He threw the paper against the wall, the sound of the impact insufficient to satisfy the tempest within. He imagined confronting the imposter, the words of accusation clawing at the back of his throat.