Gemotions

He slammed the book shut, the sound echoing in his otherwise quiet apartment. It had been left anonymously on his doorstep, a slick, professionally printed biography detailing his rise to success. John, a man of few words, ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that used to soothe him, but now only made him feel agitated. The words, so carefully chosen, felt like a series of pinpricks.

He paced the length of his living room, the polished floorboards reflecting the harsh overhead light. He’d built his career brick by brick, a private journey. Now, it was laid bare. He felt a phantom chill, as if someone had pried open his chest and exposed his insides. His usually steady hands trembled as he poured himself a drink, the amber liquid sloshing over the rim of the glass.

He texted his brother, a short, clipped message: "I need to talk." The reply, a string of concerned emojis, offered no comfort. He felt suddenly, intensely alone.