Gemotions

He had entered the support group meeting expecting a room full of empathetic faces, not a mirrored reflection. The woman across from him, with her dark, tightly-wound bun, possessed the exact same peculiar tremor in her left hand that he’d learned to live with. It was the giveaway, the telltale sign of the Fibro-Skeletal Malady. His breath hitched.

"You… you too?" he blurted, his voice cracking. He felt a sudden, profound disorientation. The other attendees, all friendly faces with supportive nods, melted into the background as his attention locked on the woman. He felt the blood drain from his face, leaving him feeling cold, and his stomach lurched unpleasantly.

She nodded slowly, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. "Yes," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the drone of the projector. He reached for his water, his hand shaking so violently he nearly knocked the glass over. He was not alone.