Gemotions

The email sat in her inbox, a malevolent little square of digital dread. Her name wasn't on the byline. Instead, a stranger’s name blazed across the top of the article she had poured months into. Her hands trembled as she scrolled through the comments, each one a sharp jab to her gut. She chewed at her lip, the taste of metal flooding her mouth. The walls of her apartment seemed to shrink, the air thick and hard to breathe.

She backed away from the screen, bumping into the worn wooden table. Her breath hitched. The screen glowed an accusatory blue. A chill crawled over her skin, as if an icy hand had brushed her spine. Her stomach lurched, and she imagined throwing up everything she’d eaten that day.

The silence of the apartment pressed in. She felt trapped, the feeling like a vise slowly closing around her chest. The door lock, usually a symbol of security, seemed now like a flimsy barrier against something unseen. She grabbed her phone, her fingers fumbling over the cold glass. She had to call someone, anyone.