Gemotions

The waiting room was all muted tones and soothing artwork. He wanted to gag. He, Daniel, who’d been wrestled to the ground more times than he could count by a hulking brute named Mark, was now sitting in Mark’s waiting room. The irony was a bitter pill he was forced to swallow. He fidgeted, the fabric of his perfectly tailored suit suddenly too tight.

He picked up a magazine, deliberately slamming it back down. The receptionist, a woman with a placid smile, didn’t flinch. Good. He wasn't here to be coddled.

His name was called. He rose, his back stiff. He walked down the corridor, each step a reluctant capitulation to the universe's cruel sense of humor. He wondered if Mark would have the decency to look sheepish. He doubted it.