Gemotions

"Are you absolutely certain?" John’s voice, usually a steady baritone, cracked with strain. The stern-faced administrator across the desk offered a weak smile. He felt a throbbing ache behind his eyes, a pressure that threatened to explode. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture doing little to soothe the growing unease. The realization that someone else's illness, someone else's history, had been misattributed to him felt like a cruel joke. He wanted to kick the desk, to smash something, to release the pent-up frustration that threatened to suffocate him. The room began to swim, and he had to fight the urge to run.