Gemotions

He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, the action a testament to the turmoil bubbling beneath the surface. He felt as though a steel band was tightening around his temples, the beginnings of a headache he knew wouldn't let up. He kept drumming his fingers on the worn tabletop. He hated this, needing help, but the pressure had built, a silent, suffocating presence, until he couldn't think, couldn't breathe. The silence in his apartment felt oppressive.

A new therapist was the answer, he thought, trying to quell the inner storm. He checked his phone. The address was new, a building he’d never seen. He took a deep breath.

The receptionist announced the therapist’s name. A chill ran down his spine. The face that appeared was one he thought he’d buried in the recesses of his past: Mark Jenkins. The bully who once stole his lunch money and tormented him through middle school. Now, Mark Jenkins was a counselor. He suddenly felt nauseous.