Gemotions

The telephone receiver felt heavy in her hand. She stared at it, the dial tone a constant, irritating buzz. He was out. She had found his manuscript, a cruel and distorted account of their relationship. Every memory, every private moment, now exposed in the most unflattering light. She felt a hollow ache.

She slammed the receiver back onto the cradle, the sound sharp and brutal. She began to pace the apartment, her steps quick and restless. Her hands flew through the air, gestures of frustration and outrage. She wanted to scream, to shatter something. The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in.

She stopped abruptly and walked to the kitchen and grabbed a glass from the cupboard and hurled it at the wall. The sound of it shattering, and the way it scattered across the room, was oddly satisfying.