Gemotions

"This isn't real, this isn't happening," Clara muttered, the words a fragile shield against the onslaught of emotions. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the sudden stillness of her room. The screen displayed her most private thoughts, her youthful dreams and insecurities, laid bare for public consumption.

She couldn’t breathe. She swiped at her eyes, her vision blurred. She’d always considered those pages a time capsule, a fragile artifact of a past she had left behind. Now it was a Pandora's Box, and the contents were spilling out, threatening to engulf her.

She rose from her chair, her legs unsteady beneath her. She walked to the window, pulling the curtains closed. Darkness, at least, offered the illusion of sanctuary. Her phone buzzed; a message from her mother. She ignored it.

She hugged herself, fighting a rising wave of panic. She needed a plan, a strategy. But all she could do was stand in the dark, replaying the scenario over and over.