Gemotions

He slammed the book shut, the sound echoing in the sterile silence of his apartment. His knuckles were white against the cover, the leather cool and unyielding. The words, the blatant falsehoods, were a constant, throbbing ache behind his eyes. He’d never divulged the secrets this biographer claimed to know. His private pain, the crushing disappointments, the moments of utter desolation that he’d shielded from the world – they were now fodder for public consumption. His apartment felt alien now, filled with a suffocating weight he couldn't quite name, a burden that seemed to press down on him, making it difficult to breathe.