Gemotions

He had to sit down. The moment he saw him, he had to take a deep breath to steady himself. This was not how he'd envisioned this session. He'd imagined a cool detachment, a clinical objectivity. Instead, he felt a frantic energy build within him, a need to pace, to move, to release the tension that coiled in his gut.

He sat, but his legs bounced, keeping time with some unseen rhythm. He was staring at him, and it was like a challenge. The therapist leaned back in his chair, seemingly unfazed. This man. This bully. This… professional.

“Tell me,” the therapist began, his voice measured. The words hung in the air, a silent invitation to a battle he didn't know if he was ready to fight. He felt the blood rush to his head.