Gemotions

“Another one?” The doctor's voice, devoid of inflection, grated on Maya’s nerves. The shared condition—another victim, trapped in the same gilded cage. She hated the doctor’s detached professionalism, his clinical detachment. She wanted to scream at him.

She pushed her chair back, the screech echoing in the room. He didn’t seem to notice. The man was probably used to it. She imagined him sitting in his chair, bored.

She had to leave. She wouldn't stay and listen to the diagnosis, she couldn't. She needed to be free. She spun on her heel and stalked toward the door, her hands curled into fists. The doctor’s words, a soft hum in the background, followed her as she stormed out.