Gemotions

The humidity hung heavy in the air, clinging to Chloe’s skin like a shroud. She stood on the porch, fanning herself with a magazine, swatting at the persistent gnats. Everything felt oppressive. A shrill chime from her phone. A friend request. From Robert “The Bruiser” Johnson.

Robert. The name immediately brought a wave of nausea. He was a constant presence in her nightmares, the embodiment of her childhood fears. The way he’d stalked the halls, the way he’d delighted in making others feel afraid. The thought of him, after all this time, was enough to make her stomach clench.

She could almost feel his presence, the way he’d loom over her, his imposing figure casting a shadow of dread. What did he want? Revenge? An apology? The thought sickened her. She hurled the magazine onto the porch swing and stormed inside, slamming the door behind her.