Gemotions

The waiting room's floral wallpaper seemed to constrict her chest. She tugged at the collar of her sweater, the wool suddenly feeling scratchy against her skin. Each tick of the grandfather clock in the corner echoed in the otherwise silent space, amplifying the thrumming in her ears. Her hands, balled into fists, fidgeted in her lap, fingers drumming a nervous rhythm against her jeans. Why had she agreed to this? A wave of nausea hit, and she swallowed hard, trying to quell the rising panic. The receptionist's casual smile felt like a mocking grin.