Gemotions

Michael drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, the insistent rhythm a counterpoint to the thrumming in his ears. The traffic was bumper-to-bumper, and he was already late for his therapy appointment. His palms were slick with sweat. He kept replaying the scene: stumbling across the manuscript tucked away in Sarah's writing desk. It was about him, an emotionally unavailable man who couldn't commit.

He gripped the wheel tighter. He hadn’t confronted her yet. How could he? The truth in the story, or the perceived truth of it, had sunk into him like a lead weight. Every interaction with Sarah now felt laden with unspoken accusations. He felt as though he was being watched, judged.

He reached for the radio, fumbling with the volume. The blaring music didn't help. He turned it off again.