Gemotions

Michael slammed the laptop shut, the metallic sound echoing in the otherwise silent apartment. His stomach churned. He’d stumbled upon the novel while searching for a spare charger. It was *his* story, or at least, a highly fictionalized, yet disturbingly accurate, version. He scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling the prickle of stubble against his skin.

He felt a sudden compulsion to tidy. He began straightening the books on the shelf, his movements jerky and hurried, as though he could physically erase the words from his mind. He then went over to the kitchen, where he started scrubbing the countertops until they gleamed. Each wipe of the sponge was a desperate attempt to regain control.

The arrival of Emily, his girlfriend, felt like a looming threat. He heard the key turning in the lock. The floorboards creaked. He froze, his heart hammering against his ribs, unable to face her.