Gemotions

He dragged himself through the front door, the weight of the day settling heavily on his shoulders. The news had broken mid-afternoon, courtesy of a particularly vicious tweet. He tossed his keys onto the counter, the clatter too loud in the sudden stillness. The diary, filled with teenage dreams of rock stardom and unrequited love for the girl with the green eyes, now open for public consumption. A cold sweat slicked his palms.

He sank into the armchair, the worn cushions offering no solace. His legs felt like lead. He thought about the phone calls, the texts, the inevitable avalanche of judgment. He wanted to disappear. He felt his jaw clench, a familiar tension. He hadn’t felt this hollowed out since his parents' divorce. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to erase the ghost of a smile, the memory of a carefree, foolish, younger self.