Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the sunbeam slicing across the sterile office. Liam clenched and unclenched his fists, the knuckles popping with each movement. He’d driven an hour to get here, to this quiet suburban practice, all to… what? Confront him? To seek help? The irony choked him.

The receptionist had been pleasant, offering him a magazine. He’d ripped it in half. He hadn’t been able to keep his hands still. He’d imagined all the different ways he could get the upper hand.

The door opened. Mark, now Dr. Henderson, walked in, face smooth and professionally neutral. He looked older, of course, but the same coldness was there.

"Liam, good to see you," Dr. Henderson said, the words dripping with a forced cordiality that made Liam's jaw tighten. "Please, take a seat."

Liam ignored the invitation. He took a single step closer. The air inside his chest was caught and trapped, an impossible, unbearable pressure.

"What is this?" Liam snarled.