Gemotions

The coffee cup shattered against the kitchen floor, shards of porcelain scattering across the tiles. Her partner, Michael, had been so *proud* of his novel. He'd even given her a signed copy. Now, she wished she could erase every word of it.

Her face was flushed, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts. The book’s protagonist was a thinly veiled caricature of herself, a selfish, manipulative woman. She paced the kitchen, her movements jerky and erratic. She felt a knot forming in her stomach, a tightness that constricted her chest.

She reached for the broom, not to clean up the mess, but to channel the volatile energy coursing through her. She swept the debris back and forth, the sound a percussive rhythm to her anger. Michael would be home soon.