Gemotions

The waiting room was a sterile expanse of beige, the silence broken only by the rhythmic ticking of a clock that seemed to amplify her unease. He was late, predictably so, and the receptionist had the gall to ask if she was "feeling alright, dear?" as if her flushed cheeks and rapidly tapping foot were a source of amusement. Finally, he strode in, all apologies and a dazzling smile, utterly unaware of the storm brewing within her. His casual mention of "the usual" and his breezy assumption that they were in this together was the final straw. She rose abruptly, pushing back the chair with a screech that echoed in the quiet space, and stalked towards the window, staring out at the rain-slicked street.