Gemotions

The damn thing was everywhere. On every coffee table, in every waiting room, staring back at her with that insipidly cheerful cover photo. Her face. Her life. Reduced to a brightly colored pamphlet, all without a single goddamn consultation. She slammed the book onto her desk, the cheap paper rattling like a snake. Her jaw clenched. She needed to take a walk.

Outside, the city seemed to press in, the skyscrapers looming, suffocating. She shoved her hands in her pockets, kicking at a loose piece of pavement. Each step was a deliberate act of defiance. The writer, that worm, had dared to think he knew her. She would show him. She would show them all.