Gemotions

The familiar scent of antiseptic and something faintly herbal filled the air. My stomach churned. He was saying something about childhood trauma, but his words felt distant, muffled. My vision narrowed, focusing on the framed diplomas on his wall. Each one was a testament to his transformation. My throat felt thick, making it hard to swallow. The questions he asked were simple, but my responses were clipped, hesitant. I found myself focusing intensely on the pattern of the rug, as if it held the key to my composure.