Gemotions

The drive home was a blur. Michael gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, his knuckles a white blur. The familiar route seemed strange and unfamiliar, each turn a potential wrong. The landscape morphed into an obstacle course of triggers, everything reminding him of the digital publication.

He barely registered the red lights, the other cars. His mind was a maelstrom of memories, all of which now belonged to the public. He felt a profound sense of unease, a constant churning in his stomach.

He pulled into his driveway, killed the engine, and just sat there, frozen in the seat.