Gemotions

The book arrived unannounced, a sleek black tome with his name embossed in silver. He’d never authorized a biography. His hands trembled as he ripped the cellophane, a fine sheen of sweat coating his palms. He ran a finger across the cover, a low growl escaping his throat. It felt… invasive.

He slammed the book shut and paced his apartment, the hardwood floors creaking under his agitated strides. The afternoon sun, usually a welcome companion, seemed to mock him, casting long, dancing shadows. He felt a throbbing in his temples, a pressure building behind his eyes. He stopped, took a shaky breath, and, with a surge of anger, flung the book across the room. It landed with a dull thud against the far wall.