Gemotions

The library, usually a sanctuary of quiet contemplation, felt like a battleground. She sat alone at a table, surrounded by stacks of books, yet unable to concentrate. Her gaze kept drifting to the door, expecting to see Jason, her roommate. She knew he had read her journal.

Every rustle, every whispered conversation, seemed to be directed at her, a commentary on her most private thoughts. She slammed her book shut, the sound a sharp crack in the silent room.

She wanted to run, to escape the suffocating weight of his transgression. The feeling was a cold, hard stone at the pit of her stomach.