Gemotions

The newspaper lay open on the kitchen counter, the headline screaming its deception. He poured another generous splash of whiskey into his morning orange juice. The bitter tang did nothing to quell the warmth spreading through him. He pictured the editor’s face when the truth inevitably surfaced – the bewildered surprise, the abject apology.

He casually reached for his phone, scrolling through his contacts, selecting a name. He pressed ‘call’, letting it ring once. Twice. He smiled, a slow, predatory curve of his lips. A secret, like this, was best shared judiciously.