Gemotions

The blood pounded in her ears. The novel. *His* novel. The protagonist, clearly based on her, was a woman consumed by vanity and ambition. Her hands were trembling so badly she could barely hold the book open. She hated what he had written.

She threw the book across the room. It landed with a soft thud against the wall. She felt a burning sensation in her eyes, tears pricking her vision. She paced the room, the anger bubbling just below the surface. She ran her hands through her hair, desperate for some kind of release.

She needed to leave. She needed to escape. She grabbed her keys and left, driving faster than she knew was safe.