Gemotions

He’d almost crushed the Styrofoam cup in his hand. The therapist, a woman with a kind face and a voice that dripped with practiced empathy, had asked, "And how are we feeling today, Mark?" Mark wanted to scream. Wanted to throw the lukewarm coffee against the pristine white wall.

His palms were slick. He could feel the pulse hammering in his temples, a frantic drumbeat against the quiet room. "Fine," he managed to rasp, the word a tight, strained sound.

The doctor, unaware of his inner turmoil, continued to talk. About his anxieties, about his recent job loss. He listened, his gaze fixed on the perfectly arranged bookshelf, wanting to shatter everything. Then, it happened - she mentioned his childhood bully. "You know, the one who stole your bike."

His vision narrowed, and his hands clenched, forming into fists. He had to say it. "Yes, Dr. Emily Carter. I know."