Gemotions

He’d asked about her writing, out of the blue. He’d inquired, with almost casual interest, about the classes she was taking and what she was hoping to get out of them. "You're a pretty good writer, you know," he had said, that morning. It was the way he’d said it, so matter-of-factly, with a strange little smile, that made her skin crawl.

She changed the password on her laptop, just in case. She started saving her written thoughts to a USB drive she kept hidden under her mattress. Sleep became a battleground of fragmented dreams, filled with distorted faces and whispered voices.

The room now felt like a cage. She couldn't shake the feeling of surveillance, of being constantly judged. Even the familiar scent of his cologne seemed to mock her. She felt trapped in a self-made prison of worry and suspicion.