Gemotions

The aroma of coffee, usually comforting, turned sour. He’d found the manuscript in the kitchen, casually left out, an accident, perhaps? "The Reflection of Leo" it read, and the fictional character bore a close resemblance to him.

He felt the muscles in his jaw clench. He read, his heart beating a rapid staccato. The character was an unreliable narrator, manipulative, and selfish. The fictionalized version was so unlike the image he projected of himself.

He tossed the manuscript on the table and ran his fingers through his hair. He needed to leave, to get away from these words, to think. He felt the walls of the kitchen closing in. He grabbed his keys and slammed the door behind him.