Gemotions

The flickering neon sign of the diner cast an eerie glow on the rain-slicked street. Michael sat across from his roommate, Alex, picking at his fries. The air crackled with unspoken accusations. His journal, filled with vulnerable truths, had vanished from his desk.

Michael shifted in his seat. The waitress, a woman with tired eyes, refilled his coffee. He needed this conversation to be over.

“So… about my journal,” Michael began, his voice barely a whisper.

Alex averted his gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Michael slammed his hand on the table, making the plates jump. “Yes, you do! You had it, I know you did. And I don't appreciate having to eat cold fries.”

He just wanted it, wanted an explanation. He felt like he was being taunted.