Gemotions

He slammed the book shut, the sound echoing in the silent apartment. Michael paced, the polished wood floor creaking under his weight. He’d found it yesterday at a bookshop – *The Michael Reynolds Story*, a slim paperback nestled between biographies of obscure historical figures. His hands felt clammy.

He stopped, staring out the window at the city lights twinkling below. The sudden appearance of the book had thrown him. Every choice, every stumble, every small victory laid bare within those pages. He felt like his skin was too tight.

He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. The author, a name he didn't recognize, had managed to unearth details of his life that he had long buried. He felt a profound sense of exposure, of vulnerability, as if someone had peeled back the layers of his existence. He needed a drink, a strong one.