Gemotions

The support group was the bane of his existence. "Share your feelings," they said, "embrace the journey." He stared at the well-meaning faces around the table, the words sticking in his throat, a bitter lump of defiance. It was a journey he never asked for.

He preferred the darkness, the solitude. He liked not speaking. He preferred to be left alone. He was forced to come, forced to participate.

The facilitator, with her irritatingly bright smile, introduced a new member. A woman with a stoic expression, her arms crossed. He caught her eye, a flicker of shared frustration.

"I’m Clara," the woman said, her voice flat, "And I’m *thrilled* to be here." He recognized the sarcasm instantly.

He found himself, for the first time, not wanting to leave.