Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of the hospital cafeteria, mirroring the storm brewing inside Marcus. He shoved the tray away, the lukewarm coffee untouched. The gastroenterologist’s explanation, delivered with practiced blandness, had only fueled the smoldering fire in his gut. His records, swapped with a woman named Agnes, who, apparently, had a fondness for deep-fried everything. That woman’s ailments, plastered across his medical history! The injustice of it was maddening.

He could practically taste the doctor's patronizing sympathy. He, Marcus, who ran marathons and ate kale smoothies, was now being offered advice about… bloating? He let out a harsh, humorless laugh, the sound swallowed by the clatter of silverware. He caught his reflection in the greasy window, seeing the tight line of his jaw, the hard glint in his eyes.

The thought of those charts, filled with Agnes's bad habits and probably worse health habits, made him clench his fists. He felt the familiar, unwelcome throb of a headache begin to pulse behind his eyes. He stood abruptly, knocking his chair back with a scrape. He wouldn’t eat this slop. He wouldn’t be seen here a moment longer.