Gemotions

He’d left the manuscript open on the kitchen counter. A careless mistake? Or a calculated unveiling? Liam’s pulse thrummed a frantic rhythm against his ribs as he read. His character, "Ethan," wasn't just *like* him; he *was* him, down to the worn leather of his favourite jacket.

Each sentence was a pinprick, each paragraph a gaping wound. Sarah, his partner, had laid bare his flaws, his vulnerabilities, his petty jealousies. The prose was sharp, biting, and… damn it… beautiful.

He dropped the manuscript. A clatter against the tiled floor. He had to escape. He grabbed his coat, his hand shaking so violently he could barely manage the zipper. Out the door, into the crisp autumn air. He needed to *move*, to outrun the sudden, crushing weight that settled upon him.