Gemotions

He stared at the email, the words blurring before his eyes. It was a rejection, the final nail in the coffin of his ambitions. He felt a coldness creeping through him, a hollowness that threatened to swallow him whole. He grabbed his coat, needing to escape the confines of his apartment, and walked aimlessly until he found himself in front of an unassuming building. He vaguely recognized the name on the sign - "Sycamore Counselling." He'd seen it before, but never paid it much mind. He felt a wave of dizziness wash over him.

He was sitting in a waiting room, the air thick with the scent of lavender and the hushed whispers of strangers. Then, the door opened. A man, vaguely familiar, with a kind face, gestured him inside. "Mr. Davies?" the man asked. It was Ethan, the kid who used to steal his lunch money in middle school.

"Ethan?" he managed, his voice sounding thin and reedy.