Gemotions

He ran his hand through his already disheveled hair, the gesture a nervous tic he couldn’t seem to control. His pulse hammered against his ribs. The city noise, normally a dull hum, felt like a cacophony of judgement. Every honk, every shout, seemed directed at him.

He’d almost missed the appointment. He had been close to backing out entirely. The sign outside the building, bearing Dr. Harding’s name, felt like a gauntlet thrown down.

Inside, the waiting room was sterile, the air thick with unspoken anxieties. His childhood nemesis, the one who had made his life a misery for years, was now supposed to help him with his. The absurdity was almost enough to make him laugh, except he was too wound up.