Gemotions

The stale air of the office felt oppressive. John ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair, the strands catching on his calloused fingers. The paperwork on his desk swam before his eyes, the words blurring together. He hadn't slept properly in days, the events of the last week constantly replaying in his mind. He just wanted it all to stop. He reached for his phone, intending to call his sister, wanting to talk about anything. But he tapped the wrong contact. A text, meant for his therapist, was sent to his boss. *I can't cope anymore*. He closed his eyes, his shoulders slumping. He felt the blood drain from his face.