Gemotions

The waiting room was atrocious. Pale beige walls, a potted plant that looked like it hadn't seen water in a decade, and a flickering fluorescent light that buzzed like an angry wasp. He shifted in the uncomfortable chair, the scratchy tweed of his trousers doing nothing to improve his mood. It was the afternoon, and the world seemed designed to annoy.

He tapped his foot, the sound echoing in the oppressive silence. He’d made the appointment out of obligation, feeling a pressure he couldn't quite articulate. The receptionist, a woman with a too-sweet smile, had called his name with a chirpy eagerness that grated on his nerves. He wanted to tell her to shut up.

The door opened. It was her. Sarah Henderson. He hadn't seen her in twenty years, but that sneer, that perfectly sculpted hair – it was unmistakable. Her smile, this time, seemed less saccharine, more professional. "Come on in, Mark," she said, her voice smooth and measured. He forced himself to his feet, a knot forming in his stomach.