Gemotions

The notification buzzed, a tiny, digital viper in her hand. Sarah stared at the screen, heart hammering against her ribs. It was him – Mark Thompson, the boy who'd made her life miserable in seventh grade. The request was innocuous enough, a profile picture of a smiling man in a suit, but it felt like a cold hand on her neck. She slammed her phone onto the kitchen counter, the ceramic clattering. Breakfast was forgotten. She pushed at the scrambled eggs on her plate, her appetite gone. The sun seemed blinding, the room suddenly too small.

Later, at work, she found herself avoiding eye contact with everyone. The incessant clicking of keyboards and chatter of colleagues felt like a hostile symphony. Each time her phone pinged, she flinched, imagining a message from him. She kept checking her phone, even though she knew she wouldn't respond. The constant awareness of the request was like a persistent ache, a dull throb in her mind that wouldn’t disappear.