Gemotions

The elevator ride felt like an eternity. Each floor was another step closer to a confrontation he was dreading. His palms were slick, and he wiped them surreptitiously on his jeans. He could feel the familiar weight in his chest, a physical manifestation of his unease.

He’d almost tripped on the uneven pavement outside the building. He hated the city, the noise, the crowds, the way people seemed to brush past him without a second glance. It had never been his place.

He finally reached the office door, the brass nameplate gleaming, and the name staring back at him - Mark Harrison, Clinical Therapist. A wave of nausea hit him, and he fought the urge to turn back, to disappear.