Gemotions

He found himself pacing his living room, phone clutched tight. Mark’s hands were shaking. *Daniel*, a therapist? It didn't seem right. Daniel, who’d stolen his favorite baseball glove, who’d mocked his stutter.

He threw the phone onto the couch. He slammed his fist down on the armrest. He pictured his own therapist, the kindly old woman who helped him get over Daniel's bullying. She was probably glad he never found out.

He grabbed the phone again, this time to cancel his appointment. He couldn't go. He didn’t want to be *that* guy.