Gemotions

The air conditioning hummed, a monotonous drone that did little to ease the prickling sensation on his skin. He felt trapped, not just in the small, beige-walled office, but in his own head. His thoughts raced, a panicked swarm of bees, each one stinging with worry.

He shifted in the chair, a futile attempt to find comfort. He’d come seeking guidance, seeking relief from the constant pressure of responsibility. Then he realized who his therapist was. Michael. The kid who'd delighted in making him cry on the bus.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to run. He wanted to disappear. He just couldn't do any of it. He sat in his seat, rigidly still, waiting.