Gemotions

The email notification chimed, announcing the teacher assignment. Mark stared at the screen, a muscle ticking erratically in his cheek. Mrs. Abernathy. The name, instantly evoking a rush of unpleasant associations. A wave of heat flushed his face. He didn't understand how this could have happened. His son, Ethan, was now at the mercy of the woman who had made his childhood a misery.

He felt the familiar thrumming in his temples. He visualized Mrs. Abernathy's condescending smile, her endless criticisms. He wanted to obliterate everything associated with her. He balled his hand into a fist, knuckles white.

He spent the rest of the evening avoiding his son, the words stuck in his throat, a constant refrain of fear, of anger. He found himself picking at the peeling paint of the kitchen cabinets, a desperate outlet for his growing unease.