Gemotions

The leather-bound journal felt heavy in her hands, as though filled with something toxic. She’d found it tucked away in the back of the closet, beneath a stack of old sweaters. A childish scrawl, undoubtedly his, labeled it “Project: Amelia.” Her stomach churned.

She flipped it open, the pages smelling faintly of his familiar cologne, now tainted with something else – a creeping unease. He’d written about her laugh, how it "sounded like wind chimes" but now she hated the thought of his admiration. Each sentence felt like a fresh imposition, a violation of her privacy that left her skin prickling.

Closing the book with a snap, she slammed it onto the coffee table. She felt a need to scrub every surface he'd touched, to cleanse herself from the words. Maybe she needed to move out.
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