Gemotions

He gripped the worn leather of his armchair, his knuckles white. The title of his diary, *The Year I Tried to Be Cool*, was emblazoned on the website. He had poured every awkward thought, every failed attempt at social climbing, every longing glance at the popular girls, into that book.

He’d always hated Mark, the effortlessly charismatic boy who’d always been everything he wasn’t. He imagined Mark reading the diary, probably laughing. A wave of nausea rolled over him. He felt exposed, stripped bare.

He stood up abruptly, pacing the room. He felt a desperate urge to erase it all, to undo the words, to rewind time and choose a different path. He reached for the bottle of whiskey, his hand trembling.