Gemotions

The phone call from her mother had been short. “I’m sorry, honey,” she’d said, her voice strained. “I know how much this means to you.” Now, in the library, she gripped the worn spine of her textbook so tightly her knuckles were white. The air felt thick, suffocating. Every breath was a struggle. Her eyes flickered over the words, but they wouldn't register, the print blurring into an incomprehensible mess. She slammed the book shut, the sound a sharp crack in the hushed silence. She wanted to scream, to shatter the quiet.