Gemotions

The book slammed shut, the sound echoing through the sterile waiting room. Amelia’s knuckles were white, clutching the offending object. The glossy cover, showcasing a youthful photo of her, felt like a deliberate taunt. She’d never authorized this. A biography? About her? It was preposterous!

A vein throbbed in her temple. She wanted to hurl the book across the room, to send it crashing into the bland beige wall. Instead, she rose slowly, her legs stiff, and marched towards the information desk. The poor receptionist jumped at her approach.

“I need to speak to whoever is in charge of this… this *thing*,” Amelia said, her voice tight, each word clipped. The receptionist stammered a reply, scrambling for a phone. The air in the room seemed to crackle with an unspoken tension.