Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash in her mouth. She swirled the lukewarm liquid around, the ceramic mug cold against her clammy palms. A glance at the glowing laptop screen confirmed it; her awkward teenage diary, filled with cringe-worthy poetry and yearning for a boy named Chad, was plastered across a blog she'd never heard of. Her appetite was completely gone.

She slammed the laptop shut, the metallic clang echoing in the otherwise silent apartment. The silence was deafening. Every inch of her skin felt like it was prickling, and she itched uncontrollably. She needed to be alone. Now.

She pulled the covers over her head, burying herself in the darkness. The fabric offered no comfort, only the suffocating pressure of her own despair. A tear escaped, then another, until the pillow was soaked, a testament to the storm raging inside.