Gemotions

The support group meeting. That’s what they called it. A room full of strangers, all bearing the same awful mark. As she walked inside, the faces turned towards her. She felt like an exhibit. *Welcome, newcomer!* The thought was jarring, unwelcome. She clutched her handbag tightly, nails digging into the leather.

The woman at the head of the table, a bright, bubbly woman, offered a welcoming smile. She spoke of treatments, of coping mechanisms, of community. But for Liam, the forced optimism was like nails on a chalkboard. He couldn’t. He just couldn't. He wanted to scream. He wanted to bolt. His palms were slick with sweat. He found his legs moving, his body pulling him out of the room.