Gemotions

He gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. The highway blurred past, a meaningless ribbon of asphalt. The radio played a sappy song, and he savagely switched it off. Everything felt too loud, too bright, too… everything. He’d lost her. That was it. Finished. Done. A wave of nausea washed over him. He pulled over, leaning his head against the cool glass. He needed help. He needed… something. His phone, which he'd avoided like the plague, buzzed with an alert. A work-related email. He ignored it. Then, out of nowhere, he saw it. A therapist’s advertisement. Mark Peterson. He’d gone to school with that guy. Mark had been an absolute nightmare.