Gemotions

The waiting room was a study in beige: beige walls, beige carpet, beige chairs. The antiseptic smell of it was cloying. He sat across from Maria, his supposed friend. She was babbling, rambling on about her "passion" for the role, her voice a syrupy monotone that grated on his nerves.

He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly itchy, as if crawling with unseen things. Each forced pleasantry that came from her mouth felt like a physical violation.

He found himself tapping his foot, a nervous, jerky rhythm that amplified the building tension. He wanted out. He wanted to scream.