Gemotions

Michael drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, the insistent tapping a staccato rhythm against his churning thoughts. He was definitely going to be late, but he wasn’t in a hurry. He took a deep breath. Breathing was hard sometimes. He parked and marched into the building. *Therapeutic Solutions*. The thought alone made him scoff.

The receptionist, a woman with unnaturally bright blue eyes, chirped, “Mr. Peterson? Mr. Hayes is ready for you.” She gestured towards a hallway, decorated with inspirational posters.

He entered the office and took in the scene. A leather couch. Soft lighting. A desk devoid of clutter. Daniel Hayes sat behind the desk, looking…calm. “Michael, it’s good to see you,” he said, his voice measured. “Please, have a seat.” Michael settled on the couch, the leather cool beneath him. He crossed his arms and looked at the man. He wanted to make this hard. He wanted this to be a struggle.