Gemotions

The afternoon sun streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. John felt a clenching in his stomach when he saw the title of the novel. It was their life, almost verbatim, but the author, Michael, had cast himself as the hero. John, the silent observer.

He walked around the apartment, each object a painful reminder of their shared history. He stared at a photograph, a posed shot of them smiling on vacation. Michael had written a scene, very similar, but in the story, their roles had been rearranged.

John felt the urge to destroy something, to shatter the idyllic façade Michael had crafted. Instead, he grabbed his keys and left.