Gemotions

He slammed the book shut, the sound echoing in his small apartment. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. His hands were clasped so tightly together that his knuckles were white. The book had fallen open to a passage in the middle of a chapter, where a faded letter had nestled, unnoticed, for years.

The letter was a plea, a desperate confession. He shouldn't be reading it, but he couldn't stop. He felt a throbbing pulse in his head. The words seemed to vibrate, blurring his vision, making him want to tear the paper.

He had to get rid of it. He needed to make sure it disappeared. He crumpled it and headed towards the kitchen. He glanced at the window, suddenly terrified of what he might see. He needed to be alone. He dropped the crumpled paper into a burning pan, and watched the flames consume the secrets.