Gemotions

He found the office building utterly pathetic, a drab, glass-and-steel cube that mirrored his own current mood. The receptionist's forced cheerfulness grated on his nerves. He hated it. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture he had to consciously stop himself from repeating. This entire charade felt ridiculous. Coming here, to *him* of all people. It was an admission of weakness.

He stared at the blank, off-white door, the little brass nameplate. *Ethan Reynolds, LCSW.* A tremor ran through him. He knocked, the sound echoing unnaturally loud in the sterile hallway. He was going to wipe that smug look off his face.