Gemotions

The familiar scent of old books and dust filled the library, but it couldn't soothe the unease churning within him. Across the table, Emily, whom he'd trusted, was meticulously reconstructing their shared history with their writing project, a clear distortion of his memory. She portrayed him as a hapless, easily led writer, constantly in need of her direction.

His face burned. He’d always regarded the collaboration as a balanced exchange of ideas. Now, Emily presented him as a minor player in his own life. The library's quiet seemed to amplify the clatter in his chest.

He pushed his chair back, the screech echoing through the silent room. He couldn't meet her eyes. He needed to get away, to breathe, to escape the suffocating weight of her selective memory.