Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mimicking the staccato drumming in Clara's chest. She’d found the manuscript tucked between their mattress and the box spring, a hidden world of thinly veiled characters and intimate details. Her "charming, slightly awkward" husband was, apparently, the hero of a tawdry romance novel, and she was the manipulative villainess. A tight feeling constricted her throat. She slammed the laptop shut, the metallic clang echoing in the otherwise silent apartment. She wanted to scream.

She moved around the apartment, pacing. The scent of coffee from earlier that morning now seemed tainted. She grabbed her coat, not bothering with the umbrella. The deluge outside was a fitting companion to the storm brewing within.

She couldn’t bring herself to face him. Not yet.