Gemotions

The flickering fluorescent lights of the waiting room were a personal affront. Each blink was a reminder of the slow passage of time. John checked his phone again, though he knew there were no messages. A sigh escaped him, a puff of annoyance.

He hated waiting. Hated it. He’d made a list of things to discuss, and each moment he spent sitting here felt like a wasted opportunity to make headway.

His blood pressure spiked. It was beyond ridiculous. He was sure he was going to explode. The door opened. And there he was, standing tall and looking at him like he was a broken toy. The therapist. The bully. He felt a surge of adrenaline, a desire to launch himself across the room.