Gemotions

From the moment the book landed on my doorstep, it felt like a trespasser. My name on the cover, my picture on the back, but the person described within felt like a caricature, a distorted reflection. I walked around the apartment, unable to settle.

I ran my hands through my hair, again and again, as if trying to physically erase the words. The air in my living room felt thick and oppressive. I couldn't look at anything, not the furniture, not the photographs.

I threw the book across the room, the sound of the impact echoing in the sudden silence. I felt a surge of pure, unadulterated fury.