Gemotions

The building was sleek and modern, all glass and steel, yet somehow it still managed to feel oppressive. The air was thin, the lighting too bright, and the silence too complete. He felt a pressure building behind his eyes, a tightness in his throat. He hated this. He hated being here.

He registered the woman who called his name and followed her down the hallway. Her voice, too gentle, too understanding, grated on his nerves. He felt a hot flush creep up his neck. As he reached the office, he saw the nameplate. He felt the blood drain from his face. The name, the face, the memory of the childhood torment.

He gripped the doorframe, his knuckles white. The therapist looked up and smiled. A smile that made him want to smash something.