Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash in his mouth. Leo stared at the spreadsheet, numbers blurring before his tired eyes. The project had stalled, deadlines were missed, and the pressure from his superiors was suffocating. He ran a hand through his already thinning hair, the gesture a familiar one he used for comfort. Frustration simmered inside him, a constant, low-grade fever.

He'd tried everything. Longer hours, caffeine fixes, even a meditation app. Nothing worked. The doctor had suggested therapy. Leo, initially resistant, had reluctantly agreed. He needed help, he knew that. He booked an appointment, not realizing the therapist was a familiar face.

The office, bland and beige, did nothing to soothe his nerves. He tapped his foot incessantly as he waited, the anxiety rising in his chest. When the door opened, and Mark – the boy who'd tormented him for years on the playground – appeared, a cold wave washed over him. He felt as if his stomach had dropped. He swallowed hard. The world tilted slightly.