Gemotions

Rain lashed against the window, mirroring the torrent inside Thomas. He’d found the manuscript tucked under the mattress, a sprawling tale of their relationship, but filtered through her eyes. The heroine, clearly him, was painted as selfish, uncaring. Every fault he'd tried to hide, she'd magnified.

He’d slammed the book shut, the sound echoing in the empty apartment. He’d walked out, needing air, needing space, needing… something. The walk had done nothing to calm him; the anger, the sting of being exposed, a deep, gnawing unhappiness.

Hours later, the rain still hammered the panes. Returning to the flat, he saw the faint glow of the television through the curtains. She sat on the sofa, bathed in its light, a crumpled tissue clutched in her hand. Her head was bowed, and the silence now felt like a weighted blanket.