Gemotions

David found himself drumming his fingers against the worn armrest of the therapist's chair. The office was all soft lighting and calming music - everything he loathed. He'd been cornered. His sister had practically dragged him here, claiming that Dr. Reynolds - the name alone grated - could help.

He’d recognized the name from the online profile: Michael Reynolds, specializing in childhood trauma. Then it hit him. Michael Reynolds was the kid who used to make fun of his stutter. He felt the blood begin to pound in his temples.

He could feel the familiar weight in his chest, the feeling like he was being squeezed into a smaller and smaller space. He considered turning around and leaving, but his sister's pleading eyes flashed in his memory.

He was going to tear down this facade. He was going to expose the charade. This pompous windbag was going to hear every single detail of his life. And he, David, was going to make sure Michael Reynolds truly understood what it was like to suffer.