Gemotions

The waiting room seemed to shrink, closing in on him. Charles couldn’t breathe. The floral scent, too strong, the muzak, annoying. He fought the urge to bolt. He had to be here. He needed help. But the thought of confiding in *Trevor*, who had made his life a misery for so many years, was almost unbearable.

He rubbed his temples, trying to ward off the throbbing headache. He felt a primal urge to protect himself, to fight back. He crossed his arms and glared at the pristine artwork on the wall, filled with a seething rage.

"Charles?" a voice called. He winced.