Gemotions

The man's office was immaculate, smelling of expensive cologne and freshly brewed coffee. The sight of it made John's stomach churn. He sat on the edge of the uncomfortable chair, his gaze fixed on a framed photograph on the desk. He wouldn't speak first. He'd make him wait.

"John," said the therapist, his voice smooth and professional. "It's good to see you."

John remained silent, continuing to study the photograph, a picture of the therapist's family. He let the silence hang, a physical weight in the air. The therapist would have to break it.

He could feel his pulse hammering in his ears. He wouldn't give in. He was *not* going to show weakness.