Gemotions

He chewed on the inside of his cheek, a nervous habit that had returned with a vengeance. He’d spent the morning in a low-level state of irritation, and this appointment was the culmination of a day he was now convinced was designed to torture him. The silence in the waiting area was deafening, amplified by his own internal turmoil.

He'd read the pamphlet, attempting to find some semblance of optimism, some shred of hope. It was all insipid, fluffy nonsense. His fingers drummed a restless rhythm against his knee. He felt a burning sensation in his throat, and the urge to snap at anyone who dared to speak.

The door opened, and a wave of pure, unfiltered animosity washed over him. It was Carol, the girl who had delighted in his misery. He forced his face into a semblance of composure. "Mark, come in," she said, with what he could only interpret as triumph in her voice. He felt a surge of cold fury.