Gemotions

"Oh, God, no," Sarah whispered, her voice barely audible. Her vision swam. "Mark Peterson wants to be your friend." She felt a sudden, sharp pain in her stomach, a physical manifestation of the terror that seized her. She clutched the edge of the kitchen counter, needing support. The world tilted slightly.

A wave of nausea washed over her. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the image of his face, the way he'd laugh, the way he'd belittle her. Her throat tightened, making it difficult to swallow. The memories of him, of their shared past, a past she'd worked so hard to bury, surfaced, vivid and unwelcome.

She stumbled backwards, knocking over a chair. Her hands flew to her mouth, stifling a choked sob. Her breath came in shallow, ragged gasps. She needed to get away, to disappear, to make this all go away. The phone buzzed again – another notification. She wanted to throw the phone across the room, smash it into a million pieces.