Gemotions

"To Ms. Peterson," the card read, the handwriting looping, unfamiliar. Inside, a single, dried crimson rose. Margaret frowned, the petals a dusty red.

Her hands moved to instinctively clutch her sides, as if she could protect herself. The bouquet, delivered just before her first class, was from a student she'd all but forgotten, David. He’d been quiet, withdrawn, and prone to sudden outbursts. She remembered his mother, a frantic woman with wide eyes.

A wave of nausea washed over her. She knew that David had been through some horrible things during his life, she had tried to help but he had retreated. The scent of the rose, faint but insistent, suddenly filled the room. She retreated to the bathroom, splashing water on her face.

Later, she found herself staring out the window, the classroom a blur. The feeling of being completely unmoored, alone with this unsettling reminder, was heavy on her.