Gemotions

Clara avoided eye contact with her reflection in the bathroom mirror. The room was a stark white, the fluorescent lights unforgiving. She’d been a fan of the author, Arthur Finch, since she was a little girl. Now, the weight of his alleged deceit felt heavy.

She splashed cold water on her face, but it did little to cool the fire in her cheeks. Everything felt tainted, as if she had been somehow complicit. She had invested herself in his books. Her walls felt as though they were closing in on her.

She picked up her toothbrush, but the simple act of brushing her teeth felt like a struggle. What was the point, she wondered, of anything?
She just felt like disappearing.