Gemotions

"Hey, can you grab the mail?" Mark called from his room. Sarah, his roommate, emerged, her face neutral, but the journal, oh god, the journal, was on the coffee table. He should have put it away, but he was careless. He felt a sickening lurch in his gut.

He forced a smile, a shaky performance, as he thanked her. He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to flee the apartment, to disappear. He tried to act normal, but his hands trembled as he brewed coffee. Every shared glance felt like a judgment, every casual comment a barbed wire fence.

That night, he stared at his ceiling, unable to shake the image of her reading his most private thoughts. He tossed and turned, the sheets twisting around him. The darkness felt thick, suffocating. He needed out.