Gemotions

The doctor's office smelled of antiseptic and anxiety. David clutched the letter in his sweaty hand. He was supposed to be relaxing, following the doctor's advice, not *this*. He glanced at the medical charts, their cryptic symbols a far more appealing distraction. The receptionist's voice, chirping about the next appointment, seemed to amplify his unease.

The apology was a balm, but a late one. The damage, the pain, the scars… they remained. He wanted to be done with it, done with all of it. He stood, dropping the letter into the overflowing trash can.