Gemotions

The headline screamed at Eleanor from her laptop screen: "Secrets of a Teenager: My Diary." Her breath hitched. That loathsome man, Bartholomew Finch, had somehow obtained her private journal. She’d always despised him, a skinny, condescending boy who had once mercilessly mocked her homemade clothes. Now he was using her vulnerabilities for clicks.

A cold knot formed in her stomach. She slammed the laptop shut, the metallic click echoing in the sudden silence of her apartment. Eleanor’s hands clenched into fists; she walked to her bookshelf, methodically pulling out every book authored by Bartholomew Finch, stacking them into a tall pile.

Each book was tossed into the fireplace. She lit a match and watched the flames lick at the paper, the pages curling and charring. She stared at the flames, a thin smile playing on her lips, her eyes filled with a dark satisfaction as the books turned to ash.