Gemotions

The apartment was a disaster, a tangible representation of David's state of mind. Empty takeout containers littered the coffee table, a testament to several days of inaction. The blinds were drawn, obscuring the world. The aroma of stale pizza hung in the air.

He knew he should clean, but even the thought of picking up a single discarded napkin filled him with a profound sense of exhaustion. He had to go to therapy. David's therapist: Chad Miller, the boy who used to laugh when David tripped.

The notification on his phone buzzed, reminding him of his appointment. He stared at it, the screen a stark white in the dim room.