Gemotions

The first draft sat on Leo’s desk, untouched for days. The author, a former colleague he’d always considered something of a leech, had somehow, incredibly, written a book about him. He was a man with a private life and now it was public.

He felt the prickle of sweat on his forehead. Every word felt like a deliberate jab, a calculated manipulation of his experiences. He paced his apartment, unable to find any peace.

He wanted to tear the pages from the manuscript, to destroy the evidence of this transgression. He felt a deep-seated unease, a constant sense of being observed, even when he was alone. The knowledge that someone had so intimately, and without his consent, documented his life left him feeling profoundly destabilized.