Gemotions

“I don’t understand,” I whispered to myself, the words barely audible. The knowledge that Emily was a librarian, not a celebrated literary agent, was a heavy weight. I had always been so proud of her apparent success and the life she claimed to lead.

The walls of my apartment seemed to close in. I paced back and forth, the hardwood floor creaking under my feet. My mind raced, replaying every conversation, every detail. Did she always believe her stories? Or was it all a performance, meant to impress?

The feeling in my gut was sour, twisting. I needed fresh air, desperately. I grabbed my coat and left the building, barely registering the world outside.