Gemotions

He found himself pacing his living room. The phone, which he'd been holding, felt like a lead weight in his hand. The screen showed the friend request: *Brenda Miller*. The name sparked a tidal wave of remembered humiliation, each wave crashing over his fragile composure. He’d gone to great lengths to avoid her.

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. He was sweating, a fine sheen of moisture coating his forehead. He needed air. He flung open the front door and stepped outside, inhaling deeply. The scent of rain-soaked earth did little to soothe the tremor in his hands.

He imagined her face, the way she used to look at him, a mixture of boredom and disdain. He hadn't seen her in twenty years. Now, this… this digital intrusion. He took another shaky breath. Why now? What did she want?