Gemotions

He hadn't slept in days. The itching was relentless, the feeling like bugs crawling under his skin. The thought of sharing a waiting room, of being in proximity to someone else… it was torture. But here he was, and across from him sat a woman, meticulously picking at a scab on her hand, a scab that looked exactly like the ones on his own body. He felt a wave of nausea, his gut twisting into a tight knot.

"Is it... is it always like this?" he croaked, the words forced from his throat. The question felt like an accusation, like a confession. He hated every aspect of this moment.