Gemotions

He stared at the screen, the cursor blinking accusingly. The request was from Sarah Jenkins. He’d barely thought of her since sixth grade, when she’d made his life a misery. Now, there she was, smiling back at him, her profile picture featuring a dog. His hand felt heavy, as if made of lead. He had been hoping for a text from his ex, something, anything to give him a sense of what to do next.

He rubbed his temples, a dull throb beginning behind his eyes. The divorce papers were on the dining room table, a constant reminder of everything he had lost. His appetite had vanished. He could barely muster the energy to change out of his pajamas, and the walls of his apartment seemed to be closing in.

He clicked on the profile. He was looking for any trace of her. She had posted about an art gallery, and he felt a sudden, sharp stab of something deep in his chest. A memory of her from when they were in highschool, an impressionist drawing she had made him. He closed the browser. He couldn’t.