Gemotions

My jaw clenched as I scrolled through the comments. Each one a tiny digital pinprick, a fresh assault. They were laughing. At me. At my fourteen-year-old self’s desperate pronouncements of love for Chad from history class. The thermostat in my apartment seemed to spike a degree every time I refreshed the page. I spun around, checking the lock on the front door, though I knew it was secure.

The next comment – a simple, mocking emoji – made me inhale sharply. I slammed the laptop shut, the metallic clang echoing in the sudden silence. My hands were trembling. I knew I wouldn’t sleep.

The house creaked. I froze, every muscle taut, listening. Nothing. Just the settling of the old building. I crept to the kitchen, grabbed a knife from the block – just in case. The shadows in the hallway seemed to lengthen, twist, and form figures.