Gemotions

“Hey, that’s a cool shirt,” he’d said one morning, while she was getting ready to leave. She’d written about the shirt in her journal that very day, how she felt self-conscious wearing it. The words of his compliment felt like a slap in the face.

She started imagining conversations, the kind of things that he might say if he knew. She'd rehearse rebuttals in her head, preparing for the inevitable confrontation. The thought of it made her stomach churn.

Her routine was shattered. She couldn't concentrate on her studies. She found herself constantly on edge, jumping at every creak of the floorboards, every whisper of wind. The world around her seemed to tilt, to become distorted, seen through a haze of apprehension.