Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash. Sarah stared at the swirling cream, the movement doing nothing to soothe the turmoil inside her. The library was normally a sanctuary, but today, every whispered conversation, every rustle of paper, grated on her nerves.

Last night, she'd found a crumpled note tucked under her pillow, a crude drawing of a smiling face next to her name. It was the handwriting, the casual, familiar script, that cut the deepest. Mark’s. He had read her journal, she was certain.

She closed her eyes, imagining him there, poring over her private thoughts. The thought made her skin crawl. She felt a profound sense of violation, a hollowness that even caffeine couldn't fill.

She put her head on the table and willed herself to disappear.