Gemotions

He’d spent the morning staring at his reflection, the lines around his eyes more pronounced than usual. He felt… tainted. The thought of Mark, the man who had made his childhood a living hell, now pretending to understand the depths of human suffering, was a bitter pill to swallow.

He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. He had come here, yes. But he didn't intend to stay. As he walked, his footsteps echoed in the hallway, each one amplified by the silence. He was a fraud, a phony.

He sat in the waiting room and the magazines felt foreign and irrelevant in his hands. He was tempted to leave immediately. The urge was so strong, so overpowering, it was all he could do to force himself to remain.