Gemotions

David hated the way the floorboards creaked under his weight, a constant reminder of his presence, a sound that grated on his nerves. He felt a profound sense of… inadequacy. He’d retreated into the spare room, now his office, for hours, only to stare at a blank page. His partner, Sarah, bustling around the kitchen, her laughter a foreign sound he’d forgotten how to produce.

Then, he found her journal. Not a diary, per se, but pages and pages of notes. Snippets of dialogue, descriptions of his slumped posture on the sofa, observations about the way his shoulders hunched. The character in her novel, a man burdened by an unshakeable sense of failure, felt like a mirror reflecting every perceived flaw. Her words, usually a source of comfort, now seemed like a judgment. He felt the weight of her disappointment.

He slammed the journal shut, the sound echoing in the silent house, and felt a burning flush creep up his neck.