Gemotions

The flickering neon sign of the all-night diner cast long, dancing shadows across the vinyl booths. He kept glancing at the door, each chime of the bell sending a jolt through him. Coffee sloshed dangerously close to the rim of his mug as his hand trembled. He had to be sure. He replayed the doctor’s words in his head, a mantra of sorts, a way to anchor himself in the swirling uncertainty. *Extremely rare. One in a million*. He’d felt a cold sweat prickling his skin when he’d heard that. Now, he was looking for a pattern, a tell, a sign that he wasn't alone.

He watched the waitress refill the sugar dispensers, and then wipe down the counter. Her movements seemed deliberate, scrutinizing. He'd seen her before. He'd watched her for days, ever since the diagnosis. Every interaction was a potential threat, every glance a potential judgment.

He finally stood, his legs stiff. He grabbed his coat, the fabric feeling heavy on his shoulders. He needed to get out. The air outside, even with the chill, felt safer.