Gemotions

He found himself pacing the perimeter of the park, the crisp autumn air doing little to soothe his nerves. The rustling leaves and the distant shouts of children felt amplified, each sound a tiny pinprick against his skin. He was jumpy, like a caged animal. He knew, logically, this was about processing the news, but the logic felt miles away.

He had been planning to jog, trying to clear his head, but his feet refused to settle into a rhythm. Every few seconds he would look up at the building. It was a nondescript, brick affair, the kind that housed accountants, lawyers, and now… Mark Hanson, therapist. The very Mark Hanson who had made his school years a living hell.

He stopped, pressing a hand against his chest, feeling the frantic rhythm of his heart. He wished he could just disappear, just vanish into thin air. But he needed help. So he forced himself towards the entrance.