Gemotions

"This isn't real," Mark muttered, pacing his cramped bedroom. He reread the articles about his diary. Each sentence felt like a personal assault, his private words twisted and recontextualized for public consumption. His stomach churned.

He needed to fix it. He needed to make it go away. He reached for his phone, his thumb hovering over the number of the person who'd betrayed him. But what could he even say? The words wouldn't come.

He slumped onto his bed, burying his face in his hands. The air felt thick with a suffocating weight. His mind swirled with images, of laughter, of judgment, of endless scrutiny. He felt a deep, piercing discomfort.