Gemotions

The first wave of shock had subsided, replaced by a cold, simmering rage. Mark had found his diary published on a website dedicated to “exposing teenage cringe.” The diary included his childish attempts at poetry and his hopeless romanticism.

He slammed his fist on the kitchen table, the sudden noise making his mother jump. He wanted to scream, to lash out, to break something. His palms were slick with sweat. He felt a burning in his throat, a need to defend himself, even though he knew there was nothing he could do.

He stalked around his room, picking up and dropping objects, unable to settle. The thought of facing his friends, of attending his classes, was nauseating. He felt as though the world was closing in on him.