Gemotions

The first thing I did was delete every book he ever wrote from my shelves. The action provided a brief, meager satisfaction. Each book hit the floor with a satisfying *thud*.

I found myself pacing, the worn wooden floorboards groaning under my feet. My steps were erratic, almost frantic. I needed to *do* something, anything, to alleviate the pressure that was building inside me.

The betrayal felt like a personal assault. It felt like theft. I needed to hurt him, just like he had hurt me.