Gemotions

The street outside was a chaotic mess of traffic and noise. It was a stark contrast to the quiet, almost suffocating, calm of the therapy office. Inside, the sterile environment did nothing to soothe the irritation that simmered beneath his skin. He crossed his arms, his gaze fixed on the floor.

A wave of frustration washed over him. The receptionist called him back, and he followed, feeling a growing sensation of aggravation building inside his chest. He was being forced to confront the wreckage of his past. And now, this. The therapist's name plate read "Michael Carter, MSW."

He nearly laughed. It was absurd. He hesitated, his hand hovering over the doorknob. He felt a burning in his chest and a desire to just flee. He took a breath, pushed open the door and saw the man with the same smug look he remembered from high school, sitting in a chair behind a desk.